


A Stroll Across Coals

by sfiddy



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: F/M, Oh god it's a magna carta origin story, The plot kept growing, a bit dark, nothing descriptive though, oblique mentions of past abuse, strategic romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-01-10 12:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 33,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12299358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfiddy/pseuds/sfiddy
Summary: A series of loosely linked vignettes featuring Marian and Guy.  Starting canon-compliant, likely veering away.  It may have acquired a plot.





	1. A Fine Spring Day

**Author's Note:**

> I was looking for fluff, and I found angst. As my other fics languish, I watched a new show and my hand slipped... and has filled four pages in my current plot notebook.

Marian’s father spent much of his days at Nottingham in pointless meetings. Frocked-up men with gray heads doing nothing but seeing each other around a table or being seen in a line, impotently hearing the complaints of the people and each other.

Lordly indeed, she thought, as she walked through the market, loosely shadowed by her guard. Warmth had returned in a rush, and the stalls were giving a good show of the first delicate harvests of spring. Though she missed the lush flavor and colors of summer, she eagerly looked forward to meals trimmed with fresh herbs and bittersweet greens. 

Marian glanced over her shoulder. Speaking of bitter…

“Lady Marian!” The Sheriff’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Join us, won’t you? Gisbourne and I were reviewing the market’s good fortunes.”

With a very slight curtsy, Marian dismissed her guard and strolled to a stall displaying slim onions and mushrooms. These were tricky conversations, and she had to play very carefully. Offer too much to Guy and the Sheriff might leverage it. Yield to the Sheriff and Robin was compromised. Rebuff Guy and damage the delicate truce that allowed her, and her father, room to breathe. It would be so much easier if Guy wasn’t an uncouth lout.

“Spring has been kind so far,” she remarked, and looked up at Guy. “Would you agree, Sir Guy?”

Guy nodded stiffly. “The taxes are being paid, my lady.”

Marian covered her sigh and kept her smile, spotting a stall with a few cones of precious buds, ready to bloom the next day. “Surely, you find flowers and the new-leafed trees to your liking?”

Guy followed her glance. “They can be… colorful.”

The Sheriff rolled his eyes. “Gisborne, your flirting wearies me. Go and check that the guards are on schedule and buy something for the lady before I have to hear your opinion on the entire calendar.”

Marian caught the moment of hesitation in Guy’s posture. Though he’d made a poor effort to stay, he hadn’t wanted to leave. He bowed to her and left on his errands, leaving her to walk with the Sheriff.

A child scampered by, playing with an energetic dog that begged for a well-gnawed ball. The boy was about to toss the ball when he saw the Sheriff, then turned and ran down the cobbled street.

“Do you know dogs, Lady Marian?” The Sheriff asked suddenly.

“My father kept hounds for hunting some years, but I cannot say I knew much of them, Sir.”

“Ah, pups for sport and play. No, I mean guard dogs. Do you know of guard dogs?”

Marian glanced at the Sheriff. “No, Sir. I do not.”

The Sheriff rubbed his hands together. “Ah, you see, I used to raise them myself. It is an art, you see, to know just how to break them and rebuild them, like molding clay.”

Marian stopped. “Did you say, ‘break’ them?”

“Of course.” The Sheriff continued walking and Marian had to urge herself to move. “You see, it takes a good deal of work for dog to finally take to the chain and collar properly. Now, a particularly stubborn bitch might well take months. I had one I had to cage and starve for nearly a year. And do you know what I had after that?”

The Sheriff turned and searched Marian’s face for a response, coming close enough for her to smell his fetid breath. 

Marian swallowed hard, her voice catching. “What then?”

He laughed triumphantly and snatched a small pastry from a stall. “She was the keenest guard dog I ever saw. I could whistle my commands and she knew just what to do. Had to keep her hungry though, a little kick here and there, but she was the best I ever made.”

A sourness threatened to rise in Marian’s throat. “My congratulations.”

“A pity though. She bit me one day. It took three guards to put her down, one lost a hand.”

Marian gasped.

“That’s the thing, you see, a good guard dog isn’t just broken, it’s ruined. You simply can’t trust them. I stopped raising them after that. Must have been what, nearly eighteen years or so ago? It’s hard to recall. I found other distractions, of course.” He grinned and bit the pastry. Crumbs clung to his lips as he chewed.

Marian shuddered despite the sunshine, wondering how such a lovely day could become this. She wished for her father’s calm and called upon every word of wisdom he’d ever offered her. 

“Are you unwell, Lady Marian?” The Sheriff mocked. “Shall I call for a physician, or is it some complaint particular to your… kind?”

She breathed through her nose, taking in fresh air to chase the Sheriff’s foulness. “I am perfectly well. Just a chill.” 

As they returned to the paths that led back to the castle, Marian and the Sheriff saw Guy approaching them. He cradled something small in his hands.

“Ah, Gisborne, over here.”

Guy gave Marian small smile. If she did not know better she would have thought him… excited? 

"Took your time, did you? I was about to send a patrol to find you. Oh, and perhaps you can settle something for me.”

“Yes?” 

“How long have you been in my service?”

Guy stilled, his hands still cupped. “Ah, it has been near eighteen years, my lord.”

Marian clenched her teeth together, her mind racing. _Eighteen years. Oh god…_

The Sheriff made a bored noise. “Well, what little trinket have you found to give to Lady Marian? Let’s see what you’ll have to apologize for.”

Guy held out his hands and opened one finger at a time. With each one, Marian saw little winks of pale color, made brighter against the black leather. When his hands were open she was already stepping forward, reaching for it. 

Guy held up his offering. “It is the first one of the year.”

Marian took the small flower. It looked almost stunted, but it was a perfect little pink rose, half opened and trembling in her grasp.

The Sheriff scoffed. “They told that to every lad who was looking to-” he raised an eyebrow at Marian. “Looking to earn _favors_.”

Marian chose silence. Rather than needle the Sheriff, she slipped her hand under Guy’s elbow, and made sure to inhale the fragrance and smile so he knew how pleased she was.

She would have to play the game very carefully, lest another guard dog be put down.

...


	2. Hallways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian interacts with Guy, then Robin, and Guy again. This castle must have a lot of hallways.

Streaks of late afternoon light glittered over pewter goblets and plates of select morsels no one was eating. Marian sighed and kept quiet as the men gathered around the table talked incessantly and said near nothing.

“Our Prince has called for early delivery of our custom, my Lords,” Vaisey announced. “We must be sure to protect the route it travels. Wouldn’t want to disappoint again, would we?”

She chanced a glimpse over Vaisey’s shoulder. She usually did not. More like than not, Guy would be rooted in place, staring right back. 

But not today. Today he swayed every so often, as if blown by a strong breeze. He was exhausted. Marian was sure he’d not stopped for rest or food all day.

“My Lord Sheriff,” one of the men began, “I cannot possibly provide the men needed to secure so large a shipment. And my roads are in need of maintenance since the spring flooding.”

On a morning walk, Marian had chanced to hear the errands Guy had been assigned. He’d been run to one end of Nottingham’s domain to the other, then back again. Messages sent, arrangements made, and answers carried back. He’d have been at full gallop for half the day by the sound of it all.

“There has been activity of forest bandits near my lands, my Lord. I cannot possibly secure the payment.”

Guy listed, shifting his weight to one leg with a wince. His eyes met Marian’s with the briefest register before another man spoke.

“The news is the same in my lands, my Lord.”

Cacophony broke like noisy birds at dawn and Marian caught Vaisey’s smirk of warning. She tapped her father’s shoulder.

“If I may, my lords, make a suggestion?” 

Vaisey preened and waved his hand for quiet. “Please, Sir Edward. You have the floor.”

Marian spotted Sir Guy as he shook his head slightly and blinked. A serving girl came with a pitcher and Marian caught her by the arm before she left.

“Prepare a hearty meal for Sir Guy and have it in his office in an hour.”

The girl bobbed her head. “Yes, my Lady.”

Sir Edward stood and spoke. “If, dear friends, none of us wish to bear the burden of care, then perhaps we should share the burden equally? If a wagon passes through each of our lands at the same time of the same day, then the risk is taken by us all.”

Vaisey shook his head. “But that assures us of losing at least one wagon, Sir Edward. How about we send the wagons, and only two carry the gold, hmm? Ha! I love it already.”

Guy blinked slowly. He would still have to meet with his men to arrange the escorts for all the carriages.

“And, for such an excellent suggestion, Sir Edward, your lands will play host to one of them. An honor, is it not, to carry our respects to Prince John?”

Marian shuddered. The threat was made.

The plans were laid in due course and after another three-quarters of an hour, the meeting concluded. Marian slipped from the room as swiftly as she could and walked through corridors, across halls, and into a series of unused storage rooms.

“Marian!”

She rushed forward. “Robin!”

“Are there plans? There is talk of wagons with gold destined for Prince John.”

Marian nodded. “Yes, but only two will carry treasure.”

“Ah! Which ones?”

She paused, and chewed at a raw place on her lip. “I only know of one, and I must ask you not to.”

“What? Why?”

“It will pass through Knighton. If you attack it, they will know information was leaked. It will put us at further risk, and I fear retaliation on our tenants.”

“You know I give the money back to the poor," Robin scoffed, "and I know you can handle Guy.”

Marian gripped his arm through his cloak. “You must not. I have given you all I can, now I must ask that you not put us in danger.”

Robin sighed. “I do not have the men to go after all the carriages.”

“Pick one or two, and gamble. You’d enjoy that.”

Robin frowned. “I do not gamble with my men’s lives.”

“Then do not gamble with mine. I must go.”

Robin tried to hold her back. “Talk with me a little longer. I need to know you are safe!”

Marian withdrew her arm. To his credit, Robin did not try restrain her further. “I am well enough, but I must be careful and so should you. Go!”

In a swirl of thick wool, Robin was gone. Marian retraced her steps back to the main parts of the castle. 

Torches were being lit, the play of light and dark dancing luridly along the stone walls, creating corners and hides along the halls leading to Guy’s office. Guards often tucked themselves into these void spaces, no doubt trained to do so by him. They always stepped aside for her.

They did so tonight. The line of black-uniformed men shuffled away from her as she approached Guy’s offices, and one ducked in to announce her, then fairly ran back out again, waving sharply for the rest to follow him.

Marian peeked around the door. “Sir Guy?”

“Come in.”

He was surrounded by hastily rolled maps and ledgers, but in front of him was a tray with a steaming bowl of rich stew, half a loaf of bread, and an apple. He stood, and the linen napkin he held was already stained.

“Do I have you to thank for this?”

Marian allowed a slight smile. “You looked weary at council.” He looked wearier still, for all his shrugs to dismiss her concern.

“Will you join me?”

“I am not hungry.”

His eyes roved for a moment. “Some wine, then?”

She felt the words form on her tongue, filling her mouth. They were on the verge of flight when she saw his face. Warmth, gratitude. Discreet desperation. 

You can only say no so many times.

Marian stepped closer. “Yes, thank you. I will.” She sat in the chair by his desk and watched as he fussed, selecting the best goblet and sniffing the wine, making sure it had not gone off. She accepted the goblet, allowing her hand to linger over his as she took it, hoping against all reason that she had done the right thing. 

...

As Marian sipped her second glass, Guy carved a slice of apple and held it out for her on the tip of his knife. Juice dripped down the glinting blade. Marian slipped the wedge free and bit. It was perfectly sweet.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voila. Thank you for the kind reception.


	3. Services

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conflicts of Sir Edward.

Sir Edward nodded to the priest and patted the familiar stones of the chapel at Knighton. He tucked his fingertips into the pitted groove he’d discovered in a pillar at the age of nine and had not passed it without doing so since. 

Even the day he buried his wife, he’d done it. Unthinking, his hand had sought the ritual comfort of that ridge. 

Marian’s bowed, veiled head by his side was a comfort in these dark times. He’d long known she would not marry here as he had, but at Locksley. 

Despite all, she would still.

Sir Edward led Marian to kneel, watching her silent prayers. They would need them all.

The priest had become a dear old friend through the years. A man who oversees so many joys and sorrows in a flock must, in time, become one of them. Father Mayson ministered to those in need while maintaining his careful allegiances. The sick and injured were always comforted, and circumstances were never asked.

A quick glance over his shoulder. Black leather.

Sir Edward bowed his head and prayed for a swift mass.

…

Marian adjusted her veil and took Sir Edward’s arm once they left the church. They were not ten paces from the door when the waiting rider dropped from his horse.

“My lord, a message.”

Edward took the scrap and read. Marian waited expectantly.

“We will have a guest later. Sir Guy will stop on his way to Locksley.”

She unpinned the veil, her face as unreadable as when it was covered. “I’ll speak with the cook. He’ll expect hospitality.” She glanced towards the trees. 

Edward nodded, but held Marian’s shoulder. “Do not risk it. I will warn him.”

She nodded. “Please.” Marian gave a shaky smile and kissed his cheek before setting off on the path back to the manor house.

Edward bowed his head and turned back to the church. 

A soft step fell in at his side. “Sir Edward, is anything amiss?”

“No, Father. I feel the need for prayer, and the stones comfort me.”

Father Mayson nodded carefully. “Of course. I will keep the candles lit.”

As Sir Edward crossed the threshold once more, he rolled the scrap into a thin tube. When he passed the column, he slid his hand along the ancient groove. When he knelt, his hands were empty.

…

Marian’s cheeks glowed pink in the firelight and those sparkling eyes, just like her mother’s, danced when she smiled. Sir Edward knew her conflict-- torn by loyalties, her upbringing, her sense of righteous anger, and divided by her emerging understanding of the larger game around her. It was not so black and white a conflict as some would have her believe.

She wanted to work from the inside. There was no further inside the circle than this. 

Sir Edward sighed. Marian did so much good as she was, but she could do more. Worse matches had been made, though he was hard pressed to think of them. 

She still dreamed of the life she was supposed to have. Sir Edward envied her that. So many of his own dreams had died years ago. Died and buried in the grounds outside the chapel.

Sir Guy looked at Marian the way he imaged he once looked at his own wife. The King himself could have passed by and not received half so much notice as Guy paid Marian.

“Sir Guy?” Sir Edward held out the flagon. Guy took it and ignored his own cup.

“Marian, may I?” 

She allowed him to fill her cup with watered wine. Not too watered, Sir Edward had ensured. 

Marian wanted adventure, but starving in the woods or narrow escapes from the noose was not what he wished for his daughter. He did not particularly wish this either, but Sir Edward could no more recall the King to his throne than turn back time.

Edward excused himself, pleading his age with a delicate nod towards the flagon. Guy would waste no time moving closer to Marian, perhaps even testing his unpolished charm in low whispers by her ear.

After relieving himself (he was getting on in years after all), Sir Edward tarried, peering out the windows and checking in with the men performing their duties. One man milled about, always nearby but just in the shadows.

Sir Edward paused and waved, then walked back inside. He closed the door and, from a small glass, watched the man linger for a moment longer before he melted into the darkness. 

When he returned to the hall, Sir Guy was not looming over his daughter as Edward worried he might, but was seated on a footstool by Marian, quietly engrossed as she spoke. Sir Edward bit back his greeting and withdrew quietly, intent on waiting another few minutes.

Neither of these men was what he wished for his daughter, not anymore. The times had changed them all. The best a father could give his daughter was security—food, shelter, and safety. She’d have to be smart to be content, but Edward could rest knowing she would be provided for. 

Edward chanced another glance into the hall. Guy slipped a delicate bracelet on Marian’s wrist and kissed her hand. The man may be a brute, but a brute who worshipped his daughter. A father could wish for far worse things.

.


	4. House Arrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a Guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took consideration. Guy is a mess. He's not a romantic hero here. He's working with what he has (which is earnest, if creepy at times).  
> Don't get me wrong, I love reading him in a big fat redemption arc. I love reading him written sensually, but that's how he wants to be, not necessarily how he is.

The hearthstones were cold. He’d neglected the fire before dropping into his bed. Careless. 

(No reason to care.)

Sir Guy had not meant to rise so early, but the crack of reins and the changing of the guard below his chamber windows meant further rest would have to wait. He shrugged the knots from his shoulders, splashed water on his face, and readied himself for the day.

He’d barely dressed when the first insistent knocks began at the door.

“Come.”

A scuffed soldier shuffled in and held out a slate. “My lord, the night report.”

“Thank you. Take your squad to the kitchens and then sleep.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Guy grimaced as he read the slate. The quicker he was in his offices today the better. 

Heavy footfalls echoed ahead of him, parting accumulated drifts of weary soldiers. 

“Don’t be blocking the halls,” Guy barked. “Get to your duties.” 

Soldiers scattered, leaving only his private detail. As the two door guards reached for the handles, Guy paused and pointed toward the rooms within. They both nodded, then unlatched the iron and swung the door open. Guy steeled his spine and stepped in.

“Gisborne, my dear, I trust you slept well?” Vaisey was sitting in Guy’s chair, at his desk, twirling one of his daggers. 

“Well enough, my lord.”

“Wonderful. I trust you saw the report from Knighton?”

Guy resisted the urge to shift his weight. “I did.”

“Then you’ll be delighted that I’ve taken the liberty to triple the patrols there for the next month.” Vaisey picked his fingernails with Guy’s silver handled dagger. 

Sir Edward was going to be humiliated and Marian was going to be furious. Christ, she was going to be furious.

“Are we certain we can spare the guard? “

Vaisey looked scandalized. “Where your betrothed is concerned, Gisborne, there is no expense to be spared.” He stood suddenly. “I’ve asked Sir Edward here before the council meeting. You’ll be there to help me convey the rest of the good news.”

Guy swallowed. Vaisey’s sharp eyes caught the movement and he grinned. Guy would have to be more careful. “What good news, my lord?”

Vaisey walked around the desk slowly, now spinning the dagger against his fingertip. “We cannot allow your bride and her father to be at the mercy of ruffians, traitors and thieves, can we?” He gripped the dagger’s hilt and tapped the point against Guy’s breastbone. 

Guy did not flinch. He was used to this game.

“I’ll go on the patrol myself,” Guy offered.

“Oh no, dear boy. I need you here and, well… I should think your little lady will need to be seen to, hmm?” Vaisey tucked the dagger between the metal clasps of Guy’s leather and patted his chest, then leaned near Guy’s ear. “We wouldn’t want her ladyship to be unattended, would we, Gisborne?” 

Vaisey’s breath was wet. The gray stone walls offered no refuge.

“Be in the main hall in two hours. Do not be late.”

Whistling, Vaisey left the office and sauntered away. 

When he dared, Guy pulled the ornate dagger from his leather shirt and sat at his desk. The edge of the heavy wood was marred with a series of fresh gouges and scratches. He sighed and laid out a whetstone.

…

From the windows overlooking the main entry, Marian looked weary as she bore too much of her father’s weight as he exited the carriage. Her burdens would only grow.

(He would relieve her of her burdens.)

Escorts took their luggage and brought it in. En route to their rooms, their cases would be opened and checked as Vaisey demanded. 

Guy would check them himself. He’d not have his men pawing her things. 

Sir Edward’s bag was sent to a small room. Rooms meant for guests who might stay overnight and no more. There was little more than nightclothes and an extra shirt. 

Guy called for a maid. “See that his clothes are hung and ready.”

He paced off to Marian’s room, and his mood immediately darkened. 

“Girl!”

The maid scampered in. “Yes, my lord?”

“Get better linens in here. I want the fire lit and flowers on the table. Get one of my guards to bring one of my banners in here.” He pointed at the door and she ran out like she was chased.

Guy took off his gloves. Her bag was cream leather with sturdy buckles polished bright from handling. She’d spent far too many nights in this wretched place. (And would spend many, many more.)

He could give her a new place to stay. Away from here. Away from the constant shouting and clashing swords and Vaisey and black. The sin and whispers; filth and decay.

He unlatched the buckles and opened the case. A nightdress in pale linen. Guy ran a finger over the embroidered flowers along the neckline, half expecting them to wither (his touch was putrid). He laid it out on the bed. 

There were two dresses. One in fine wool, a travelling dress. The seams would caress her body, but it was so unadorned as to be plain. He would buy her silks in every color but the first would match her eyes.

The other dress gave him pause. It was not a gown meant for comfort. The fabric slid in his fingers, shimmering in the mid-morning light. She may sit next to him tonight, filling out this dress, laying a hand on his arm.

Voices in the hall. Guy shook himself and finished searching the bag. Two chemise (he fiddled at a ragged sleeve-edge and wondered if she did the same), corsetry, her toilette, nothing Vaisey needed to hear of (but he had committed to memory).

The maid reappeared with flowers, followed by another with sheets and the banner. Guy had ten minutes to be in the hall, so he nodded at them with a grunt and left them to do their work.

…

Vaisey greeted Sir Edward, dripping with false sympathy.

“My Lord, accept my humble apologies for the increasing forces in your lands. There have been far too many incidents and we must see to your safety and,” the sheriff ran his fingertips over Marian’s cheek. “We cannot risk the flower of these counties.”

Marian refused to flinch, and Guy clenched his jaw so hard it made his teeth hurt.

“Lord Sheriff, my lands look like a soldier’s camp and we cannot graze so many horses without harming our crops.”

Guy did not hear the wordplay. He watched Marian. She searched his face, staring back at him. A glance towards her father and the sheriff. Guy shook his head (this was an unwinnable argument).

“I appreciate your concerns, but Nottingham will do all it can to protect your lands from theft and villainy.”

Sir Edward sighed. “Is there nothing we can do? I cannot allow the village to bear this burden.”

Marian’s gaze snapped back to Guy. He blinked hard and looked down (forgive me).

(Have me).

Vaisey tapped his chin with a fingertip. “Well, we… could… hmm…”

Guy resisted rolling his eyes.

“Perhaps, Sir Edward,”

“Yes?” The old fool leapt into his own prison.

“If, for instance, we remove the things that perhaps are drawing the bandits to your patch to a safer location?” Vaisey always did love the dramatic.

“Lord Sheriff, we are respectable,” Edward hesitated. “We are not an overly wealthy house, though.”

Vaisey’s tongue darted out for a moment, as if to taste his success. “Oh, Sir Edward. My concern is strictly for the safety of yourself and your daughter. I will not allow any threat to come near Gisborne’s betrothed.”

Edward froze. Trapped animals knew when to stop fighting. Marian looked back at Guy, desperate. 

(I am as trapped as you. Let me set you free.)

“Gisborne, Sir Edward and I must discuss arrangements and then attend council. Take Lady Marian and find suitable rooms for a lengthier stay, hmm?”

…

Guy tried to soften his footsteps. He sounded like a tromping beast next to Marian’s light steps.

He failed.

“I had nothing to do with this.”

“I know.” Her voice was iron. Neck too rigid.

The keys were in a chest in his office, each one logged in a ledger he maintained himself. Not a single door was unlocked in the castle without his awareness. The maids and porters had keys to domestic spaces, but they all signed the ledger and turned in their keyrings at the end of the day. 

As they approached, guards opened the doors. Guy stepped aside for Marian to enter first, then leaned over to a guard. “No one may enter until we leave.”

The doors closed and Guy secured the latch, immediately opening the key chest and considering the rooms.

“Your father can have a room with a good fire, and I’ll leave instructions to keep it lit. I’ll not let him be cold.” 

Marian paced. “Fine.”

“Do you want many windows? The best rooms have more than one.”

She stared at the door. “I don’t care.” 

Guy did not like the way she said it. She was not like her father, she would not freeze. Marian’s eyes began to widen. She pushed her hair and rubbed her hands together. With her breaths coming fast, she bent and rested her palms on his table, hauling air into her lungs.

With a sharp crack, she slapped a palm onto the polished wood. She gasped, holding her reddening hand. 

“Marian,” Guy said softly. She did not hear.

Marian backed away from the desk and aimed a kick at a stool, knocking it askew. She pushed at a cabinet and smacked a wall, her ragged breath growing louder. Sent a shield clattering to the floor.

Guy ached for her. He knew the frustration, indignity, the lies (so many lies) and the pointless anger that demanded something, anything, to feed the burn. Pain helped. He knew.

It was when he saw her form a fist. That was the moment. She drew back at those damp, empty stone walls. 

When she threw the punch, he caught her fist, whirling her to face him with her momentum. He cradled her bruised fist to his chest.

“No. You’ll do yourself harm.”

“I don’t care!” Her voice was raw. 

(I care.) 

“The stone cares less. You’ll break your hand.”

Marian writhed out of his grasp. She was red with rage, shaking with it as she prowled the room. She needed release, to work it out of herself or she’d go mad.

"Hit me." 

She stopped. “What?”

Guy stepped closer. “If you need to hit something, hit me. I can take it. You won't injure me.”

Marian blinked. “But I will _hurt_ you,” she sneered. He’d never seen that. 

Guy shrugged and braced for impact.

…

The storm had ended. Marian clung to him and sobbed against his chest, squeezing the fresh bruises forming on his sides. This rage was over, and when she saw how he could make her happy, she would look more gently on him. Maybe even kindly.

He kissed her forehead and straightened her hair and dress. Guy did not like the docile way she followed him to her new room (the flowers were already there), but she did not protest when he called for the maid to prepare a bath.

“I’ll go to Knighton tomorrow and bring your things.” He kissed her cheek. “Will you dine with me tonight?”

She nodded, then sighed with a shudder.

Someday he’d soothe her hurts in better ways, but until then he would take whatever she gave him. Even her abuse. (I can take it.)

...


	5. At the Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit from minstrels.

The rattle of wagons and the calls of workers rang through Marian’s window. She should be excited; it was the first entertainment since finding herself a gently held captive. Instead, her breakfast cooled while she applied her indifferent appetite to the banquet to come and her dulled senses to her new wardrobe.

It was not an elaborate show, just a troupe of minstrels bound for grander places, keen to be well fed for the journey. Even so, much of Nottingham town would come to see. Marian had barely ventured from her suite of rooms to see anyone besides her father since the confinement began, and she looked forward to the music. 

She was not certain, however, if she was looking forward to her company. Vaisey had made it clear that she was a guest of honor, meaning that her presence was required and he would be nearby at all times. 

Which meant Sir Guy would be near at all times.

The thought made her skin feel tight. She sighed and leaned against the stone wall. It was warmer than when her time at the castle began. Spring had thrown off the last evening chills and leaned into the warm embrace of early summer, filling the market to bursting with mild vegetables and tart fruit. Heavy sweetness promised to follow.

Marian shook herself. Not the red gown, it was unseemly for the day time. Brown was too dull for a celebration, and after being inside so much, the green would make her look sickly. She refused to wear anything that covered her from collar to wrist as the day was so fine, leaving the blue and pink gowns. 

The pink was lighter, and would complement the season. It would also would make her glow, being so pale a shade of blush as to recall the insides of a newly opened rose.

When the maid came, Marian was ready.

…

Vaisey pulled her into his arms the instant she was down the stairs.

“We have been so worried for you, my dear, haven’t we Gisborne? So pale, Lady Marian, why so pale? Could you not muster a costume a bit more… engaging?” 

Vaisey laughed at his own wit. “What say you, Gisborne?”

Sir Guy had not moved since she entered the hall.

“Gisborne!”

Guy snapped his mouth shut and straightened. “I am engaged.” 

Marian raised an eyebrow.

“That is,” Guy corrected, “the gown suits you, Lady Marian.” He stepped to her side and offered his arm. 

Vaisey rolled his eyes. “Well, don’t just stand there, I want to hear the music.” He marched off to the courtyard, followed by a dozen guards.

The air seemed to return to the room, and Marian took Guy’s arm lightly. 

“Thank you. I hope the weather holds, as I do not think mud would improve it.”

Four guards took formation around them as they strolled behind Vaisey’s entourage. 

Guy kept his voice low, and Marian leaned to hear. “You look like a pearl.” 

Marian bit back the first words that came to mind. It was not without cost to Guy to admit his thoughts.

“Thank you.” She glanced up and saw that he’d made an effort. “You look… handsome.”

He said nothing, but tucked her arm a fraction closer and continued walking.

…

The sounds of strings and flutes bounced luxuriously off the stones, making every note last and blend into the next. Marian could not remember the last performance she’d enjoyed so well.

It did not hurt that she was seated as far from Vaisey as possible. In truth, she could not see his face. It was blocked by Guy, who had minutely adjusted their chairs after Vaisey sat.

He was more subtle than she had given credit for. With a floral arrangement and platter of fruit between them and the sheriff, it was easy to ignore that he was there at all. And yet, once they were seated, Guy had taken her hand under the table and was loath to let it go. Given the tenuous thaw between them, Marian decided against pulling it away.

“Do you like the music?”

Marian leaned closer. “I do.”

Guy swallowed hard. “They were set upon in the forest. I chased off the bandits before they could take the instruments. I thought they might amuse you while you, erm…”

“Are held captive?” Marian supplied.

“A guest,” Guy said, a touch too loud for how close her ear was. He withdrew his hand and flexed his fingers. 

Marian cursed herself. Her sharp tongue would keep cutting if she was not careful.

The minstrels finished a song and the assembled crowd of Nottingham residents broke into polite applause punctuated with loud whistles and shouts of appreciation. A set of dancers retreated behind a screen and a single lute player and singer stepped forward. 

Marian gripped the arms of her chair as a cluster of hooded figures wove through the distracted crowd. She glanced over at Guy, busy plucking a stem of grapes free, and knew he had not yet noticed. Not yet.

The day was about to take a different turn.

The lute player strummed a sweet melody and the singer began. 

_“Come, my Celia, let us prove-”_

Averting her eyes carefully from the crowd, Marian leaned nearer to Guy.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to be so harsh.”

_“While we may, the sports of love-”_

Guy leaned stiffly. “You’ve been forced away from home. I can hardly blame you.”

_“Time will not be ours forever-”_

“You did not command it.” Marian looked down, inviting him closer. Anything to keep him from looking out at the courtyard. “I would not quarrel with you.”

“I would never confine you, Marian.” He leaned closer, his breath catching. “I only want…” 

Guy struggled to form words as his eyes stole down to her lips.

_“Why should we defer our joys?”_

The hooded figures were gone from the crowd.

“I want-” Guy leaned closer, and Marian saw the crowd taking interest.

She reached out and found his hand beneath the table. He clutched it and sat up, realizing how close they were to making a scene. 

…

Guy himself cut the choicest pieces of meat from the roast for her, and once nearly forgot to tend to his own meal as they sat together.

He bid her goodnight with a lingering kiss on her hand, followed by a kiss to her palm.

Marian readied for bed, absently tugging a bit of irregular stitching on her nightdress sleeve. As she braided her hair for the night, a lovely sound drifted up to her window.

_“Come, my Celia, let us prove-”_

For nearly an hour the lute and singer played. Marian drifted to sleep wondering if this game was becoming more or less dangerous to play. It frightened her that she was not sure she cared.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song lyrics are from "Celia", by Ben Jonson, written about 400 years too late to be contemporaries to our characters here. I gave it a pass, seeing as our merry men have been seen in Hanes and forest urchins sport Converse. :)


	6. Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian finds a feather on a morning stroll. A conversation with Robin ensues.

The summer sun was quite warm, even for the morning. Marian kept to the shade as much as she could as she walked the town. During her weeks as a ‘guest’ at the castle, she’d adopted a morning walk, watching the people of Nottingham go about their business as she stretched her legs. 

It was too easy to fall into malaise at the castle. Her head had to stay clear, lest she make a misstep.

From time to time Guy would join her, but that was rare. His mornings were busy with the running of the guard, managing security and the castle, and acting as Vaisey’s personal shadow. Like most days, she was followed by her main guard, Hosker, one of Guy’s highest ranking men. Marian could see why Guy assigned him—he was quite skilled at being nearby but out of her sight. It was a gift that gave her the illusion of privacy.

It was a dangerous gift. Marian never forgot that.

But the sky was clear and people’s faces were sunny. Marian felt warmed by a smile here and there as she passed shops and stalls.

A grandmotherly woman pushed open her shutters and leaned out. 

“A posey, my lady?” She held out a little bunch of flowers. They were nothing more than some wildflowers and a few vine roses tied with twine, but they were lovely.

“Why, thank you! They’ll brighten the table later.” Marian held out a coin in gratitude.

“Naw. They grow free and so I give them free. Good to see you smiling again, my lady.”

Marian blinked, and found her tongue again. “Nottingham is not without charm.” She held up the little bouquet. “My thanks again, good lady.”

She walked away, mindful of the guard and returned to her usual route. As she walked, she sniffed their wild perfume and fingered the little flowers. At the base where they were tied, a funny pattern caught her eye, and she tugged at a bit of twine.

A feather. Not just any feather, a striped feather trimmed for a fletching.

She stared at it.

“My lady?” Hosker was at her side. “Are you well?”

Marian kicked at the ground theatrically. “Of course, just have a bit of gravel in my shoe. I can’t seem to shift it. I think I’d like to return to my chambers to deal with it.”

“Of course my lady.”

.

Hosker left once her door was closed. She was, after all, only one of his assignments. 

Marian set the clutch of flowers down and plucked the feather from the stems. “Well, I’m back,” she said to the room.

Rustling from behind a tapestry. “Did you enjoy your walk?”

Robin stepped out and made a little bow. Marian ran to him and embraced him, thankful for a friendly face.

“How on earth did you get in? Vaisey keeps every gate so guarded!”

Robin grinned. “He does not guard the chutes.”

“The what— _oh my lord._ ” Marian waved her hand, trying to push the smell away. 

“Yes, it takes a moment to really hit you. Sorry.”

Marian shook her head. “No, no. Nevermind that. How is everyone? Djaq, Much, Will and John? Are they well?”

“They're all fine! Djaq has helped Much with his cooking and now we don’t mind it so much. She’s taught him to forage better and we’ve had less sickness from bad greens. We managed to heist some burlaps and wax, so we made a mostly leak proof tent. John is a better hunter than he knew, and we eat hare once or twice a week, and what fish we catch that he doesn’t leave for his wife makes it in the stew pot as well.

“We made a small heist yesterday, and gave it out to the folk of Clun. I expect the soldiers might come back in the next day or two, but we got a piece out of them.”

Robin hesitated. “Though, if you’ve got some soap and wine to spare, we could use it. Djaq needs them to clean a cut Will got. He’s starting to fester.”

“Of course.” Marian sprang into action and hunted up items. “Things are well enough here, but the politics are worse than I ever imagined. My father is not well enough to keep up, so I find I must assist him most days.”

Robin gave her a sad smile. “He could hardly have better counsel.”

Marian paused. “Thank you. I do what I can, and have managed a few small victories.” She returned with several cakes of soap.

“Such as?”

“Vaisey wanted to levy a tax on rabbit farming. I told my father to demand that the tax be levied only at the time of sale, rather than on the number of animals a farmer has.”

Robin thought. “That’s brilliant. They’ll be able to feed their families.”

“And maybe even a few forest men.”

Robin laughed, but the sparkle in his eyes faded. “I saw you as the minstrels played. Are you still--” He could not finish, but nodded his head towards a Gisborne banner on the wall.

Marian looked at her hands. “Yes. Yes I am.”

They were both quiet. 

“Come with us.”

Marian gripped the table’s edge. “What?”

Robin took her hand, prying her fingers from the wood. “You could come with us. Run away to the wood and live free.”

Marian pulled her hand away. “Free? You talk to me of hunger and disease and say you’re free?”

“You don’t have to marry him.”

“And what happens to my father? Or do you plan to take my frail, aging father to the wood as well?” Marian pressed her palms to her aching head. “I have no choice.”

Robin folded his arms across his chest. “Everything is a choice.”

“Choices have consequences.”

“But we help people!”

“ _I_ help people!” Marian stood, pushing away from the table violently. “In a single council meeting I ensured that people will have a source of meat and be able to pay their taxes. And no one died! That is what working from the inside can do.”

Robin sat stiffly. “I cannot believe you would give yourself to him.”

“I _give_ nothing.” Marian took two bottles of wine from her table and wrapped them with a bit of fabric. She set them in a bag and handed them to Robin. “What I get in return is the ability to make change.”

Robin tucked the soap into the bag with the wine and stood. 

Marian sat. “I do not want to be angry with you.”

“There has to be another way,” Robin pleaded. “I still love you, Marian.”

Her vision blurred. It was all so unfair. No matter what she did, no matter how much she accomplished, there was always this. Marian blinked away her tears.

“I know. But I fear it is no longer enough.”

...


	7. Parlay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the very liberal use of translation software. I do NOT apologize for making you imagine it tho.

Nine year–old Guy of Gisborne clutched his forearms tightly as his father led his mother, dressed in her finest gown and delicate lace cap and veil, into the massive room. He trailed behind, accompanied by his father’s men, listening to the guttural chatter of servants and lords alike. 

It was a split-tongued version of his French. Equal parts Norman, Norse, and Latin were chewed and spat into his ears as he held his head high in the onslaught.

His mother turned to him and bent to speak softly. Like polished silver, her voice.

“Nous ne serons pas longs, mon doux. Sois patient avec eux.” (We will not be long, my sweet. Be patient with them.)

“Oui, Maman.” (Yes, Mother.)

Guy allowed himself to be guided away and sat with a priest whose Latin was only somewhat better than his French.

…

Thirteen year old Guy of Gisborne struggled to understand. The world was simple, black and white. If someone was wrong, they needed correction. If they were right, they deserved reward. Thus, if he was wronged, he should punish the ones responsible.

His mother stood like a statue as he raged with the clumsy passion of a boy.

“Maman, they were wrong to lie! I did not do all they said!”

She watched in silence. 

“I do not deserve this shame! Our house does not deserve it!”

His words were met with a raised eyebrow.

It only made him more frustrated. “Why will you not help me? Do you like seeing me this way?”

His mother sighed, and secured her embroidered shawl around her shoulders.

“Mon fils, il n'y a rien que je puisse dire pour te calmer quand tu es en colère.” (My son, there is nothing I can say to calm you when you're angry.) She laughed darkly. “Et certainement pas dans cette langue barbare.” (And certainly not in this barbaric language.)

Guy’s anger ebbed. “Tu ne mérites pas ça.” (You do not deserve that.) Just saying the words felt better. He slumped into a nearby chair and felt his shoulders droop. “Tu mérites mieux que cet endroit froid et laid.” (You deserve better than this cold and ugly place.)

With a wave of her elegant hand, she dismissed the idea. “Donc, ces amis à vous. Y avait-il de la cruauté? Étiez-vous blessé?” (So these friends of yours. Was there cruelty? Were you hurt?)

“Non.” (No.)

“Mais vous avez offensé, puis ont été rejetés...” (But you offended, and then you were rejected...)

He squirmed under her scrutiny. “Oui.” (Yes.)

His mother knelt down next to him on the hard floor. Guy tried to stop her, for his mother should never stoop on the hard stones, but she placed her hands on his knees and held his hands.

“Quand nous sommes rejetés par ceux que nous aimons, nous ne les rejetons pas non plus. Tu te souviens de ce que nous faisons?” (When we are rejected by those we love, we do not reject them too. You remember what we do?)

Guy drew shuddering breaths. Here were lessons learned over a life of being on the outside, being different. Of being the shy, quiet foreigner in a land of obstinate, loud people. 

His mother tried so hard.

Guy took his mother’s hands in his and closed his eyes. He drew her words from deep within.

“Si vous avez fait du tort à quelqu'un et qu'il vous rejette, donnez une deuxième fois et une troisième.” (When you have wronged someone and they reject you, you give a second time, give a third time.)

She pressed her forehead against his.

“N'arrête jamais. N'arrête jamais de donner à ceux que tu aimes.” (Never stop. Never stop giving to those you love.)

…

Sixteen year old Guy of Gisborne did his best to hold very still. He and the other young conscripts were being inspected and he desperately wanted to get away from the ranks of common soldiers. He’d even prepared a set of ready answers to most questions he imagined the Sergeant-at-arms and the constables might ask.

His teeth were dispassionately inspected, his shoulders shaken to ascertain their build, and his legs prodded to discern their strength. He expected this. It was disgusting, but not surprising. 

What was surprising was the man who did none of these things. The sharp-faced little man peered at them all, then pulled the master aside.

“Tell me, are any of them able to read?”

The master shook his staff at them. “Letters! Step up!”

Guy and two others stepped forward.

The sharp faced man approached them.

“Not you.” He nudged he first boy back with a finger, then looked up into the face of the second boy.

“Name.”

The boy had barely made a sound when the man raised a hand to silence him.

“You’re Welsh. I though you said they could read?”

Finally, the little man stepped directly in front of Guy. Guy, who had grown quite tall despite his spare rations, kept his eyes straight forward, and so could barely see the top of the man’s head. 

The man whistled to call the master. 

“This one. Who is he?”

“Guy of Gisborne. Landless lord.”

The man made a noise of lazy interest. “Educated, then?”

The master shrugged. Guy doubted he knew what it even meant, but he also knew better than to answer for himself.

Guy suddenly found himself pulled down to his knees by his collars. The little man stood over him now, face darkened by the sun behind him, blinding at the edges. The man came closer, and spoke by his ear.

“Think you’re special, do you? Better than these pikers?”

Guy looked straight ahead. There was no possible answer.

The man continued. “You’re landless. Which means you’ve lost lands. Which means you’re full of fire, something they wouldn’t understand. So if you won’t say it, I will. You are better than them.”

The little man lifted a heavy purse and tossed it to the master. “Have Guy of Gisborne’s things thrown in a bag and brought to my carriage.” 

He turned to Guy again. “I am Vaisey, a constable of Staffordshire.”

The silence turned to something else. Finally, after many seconds, Guy looked up. “Yes, my lord. I look forward to being in your service, my lord.”

Vaisey rolled his eyes. “French. Well, Guy, keep an English tongue in your Norman head or you’re like to lose it.”

…

Twenty-one year old Guy of Gisborne grinned in appreciation when the kitchen girl leaned over ostentatiously to serve him his plate, her full breasts nearly spilling out onto the platter alongside his portion of roast.

She was French. Moved with her father some three years ago to serve the sprawling branches of the Plantagenet royal family, but found themselves unwelcome in much of the country. Nevertheless, her father was a good man and she a fine kitchen girl, and would no doubt be a good cook someday. 

Judging by her figure and pretty face, she was like to end up a wife before too long.

But beside that, she was a rare chance to hear his language spoken by a native tongue. He had grown rusty after years of disuse, but after a few visits to the kitchen he was weaving flirts in between begging for sweets and beer.

“Enjoy your supper, m’lord.” She bobbed her head with a smile and started to leave.

“Cateline, wait,” he called softly. “Will I see you later?”

She paused, then turned with a tiny, secret smile.

“Oui.”

.

The next day found Guy serving as Vaisey’s head guard. He led the escort around Vaisey’s carriage and circled around the column as they traveled to Vaisey’s next meeting. 

As he wove his mount through the trees lining the road, Guy struggled to keep his focus. Flashes of Cateline’s hair wrapped around his arm, her sweet smile, and the feel of her breath and lips on his skin kept echoing from the night before. 

“Gisborne!” 

Vaisey’s bellow from the carriage obliterated Guy’s musing. He tapped his heels to spur his horse, and trotted up to ride alongside the carriage.

“Yes, my lord?”

Vaisey pulled the curtain aside and, picking his teeth, squinted up at him.

“My dear boy, I meant to mentio this earlier, but I had the most disturbing news.” Vaisey paused. His flair for the dramatic was becoming predictable, but Guy knew better than to rush him.

“Oh? What news, my lord?”

“It seems that some servants in my house were found to be leperous,” Vaisey snuck a glance up at Guy, who kept his face carefully frozen. 

Vaisey feigned interest in the forest beyond. “It’s said they brought their pollution from Gaul. A certain kitchen maid and her father? I heard you knew the girl?”

A patch of rough road allowed Guy to look away. The horse would have avoided the pits and rocks without his help, but Guy could not help reacting. 

“Cateline,” he uttered, before he could claw the name back.

“Ah, yes. Well, they’re being shipped to the colony.” Vaisey’s piercing gaze never wavered. “I cannot possibly risk the rest of my household, can I?”

“No, my lord.”

Vaisey jutted his chin with a nod. “Hmm, no.” 

Guy was about to break away, to continue his patrol, when Vaisey called to him.

“Gisborne,” he said sharply.

“My lord?”

Vaisey narrowed his eyes. “Lepers, Gisborne. Lepers.”

…

Thirty-one year old Guy of Gisborne stood in the shadows, staring across the main hall. A series of guests had arrived at Nottingham castle and Vaisey was in his element, extracting promises of loyalty from some and pickpocketing the rest. Guy tracked the discussions, movements, and connections of everyone in the hall, though he found himself returning to one subject in particular.

Marian was subdued, muted somehow. She tended her father with a smile but it faded too quickly to be genuine. She winced at the cackle of a painted little ponce bounding by. She was weary, tired in a way that sleep could little help. 

Guy wondered momentarily if it had anything to do with the recent sightings of Hood in the castle, but dismissed the idea for another day. If he was irritated when he approached Marian, it was unlikely to help him.

The hall had only recently been re-opened for the warmer months, as it was excessively expensive to heat otherwise. The stone walls were still quite chilly, and though it was comfortable to Guy, he doubted that Marian’s father, pale and gray, thought it so.

With a flick of his wrist, Guy signaled to the head of his guard and instructed him to take over the watch. Now to Vaisey.

Bodies parted as he walked across the hall. Guy was a decidedly less festive figure than the surrounding company, who whooped and swilled, toasting futures and fortunes that depended on machinery they did not understand, nor knew their place in.

“Ah! Gisborne, have you come to join the merrymaking?” Vaisey lowered his voice, but not much. “Or are you going to be making Marian? Eh?" He sniggered at his cleverness. "Methinks she needs a better companion than that withered old husk.” Vaisey elbowed Guy in the side as his hangers-on giggled.

“My lord, I beg your leave to escort Sir Edward and Lady Marian to their rooms.”

A passing serving girl paused and offered her large platter of meat to the group. Vaisey sniffed. “Of course. Get him out before he expires in my party. Though Guy,” Vaisey plucked a juicy bit of meat from the platter and held it up. “I admit, I recall your tastes being a bit more… polluted.”

Guy had to bite his cheek as Vaisey tongued the meat. He bowed and left without another word. Sometimes that was best.

To say that Marian was happy to see him might be an overstatement, but she was relieved and that was as good a place as any to start.

“My lady, how do you enjoy the party?” He let his smirk tell her his real feelings.

Maran fixed a smile on her face and spoke softly. “How do you think?”

He chuckled. “Will you allow me to escort you and your father?”

She was wary. “Where?”

“Do you care?”

As it so happened, she did not.

Guy waited outside Sir Edward’s chambers as Marian assisted him. When she closed the door behind her, Guy offered his arm. She took it.

“I don’t want to go back to my rooms yet. I just move from one cell to the next.”

“Where would you like to go?” Far better to let her choose. There was no point to an apology. 

Marian said nothing. For a few minutes, Guy feared imminent dismissal, but her grip on his arm remained firm and they merely walked, turning at corners with little purpose other than to keep moving. Suddenly she stopped. Guy nearly stumbled.

She stared forward. “Books.”

“Come again?”

Marian turned with determined purpose. “Where are the books? There was a small library with some twenty or thirty books and scrolls.”

Guy blinked. “Ah, I believe the sheriff… relocated the library. I do not know where.”

Torchlight from a nearby pillar danced in her eyes. It had not before.

“But,” Guy hesitated. “I may have a few. In my offices. And my private rooms.”

Marian drew a shuddering breath. “You may, or you do?”

“I do.”

Deliberation was apparent in her eyes. It was unsettling. Guy had seen expressions like that in the faces of men before battle.

“Your offices are too close to the main hall.”

With a knowing nod, Guy set them in the direction of his own quarters. He was no fool. She wanted to avoid Vaisey and her own walls. He was the means to that end. 

The latch was strangely loud. The bolt banged in its housing like a blacksmith’s hammer and anvil and Marian jumped when the metal scraped free. She looked to him nervously.

“Books, Marian. Just books.”

She nodded, and slipped by him silently. His heart lurched. There was no denying the satisfaction of seeing her in his space. Guy closed the door and bolted it.

The rooms were far from grand, but they were suitable for a titled resident. The large space was separated into areas, with his bed thankfully far removed from where the chairs were. Marian had her back carefully turned from it.

Guy retrieved his precious two books from their hiding place. So few reminders of his mother remained, but it was fitting that Marian should know of them. He cradled his books carefully and brought them to Marian, who rested in one of his chairs.

She stared into the fire. It set gold in her hair. “Will you read to me?”

“Can you not read?”

“I can. I am tired.” The crackling fire held her attention.

Without looking, Guy gently opened a book and began to read out loud. 

Marian frowned. “That is French.”

Guy looked up. “It is written in French.”

She turned her head. “I did not know you could read French.”

“I _am_ French.”

“Oh.” She turned back to the fire and sighed. “Please, keep going.”

“Do you understand?”

“No. But I like the sound.”

It took a moment to adjust to this knowledge, the idea that Marian liked anything about him. Guy resumed, then tripped on his tongue and felt his face warm. He’d kept the books, secreting them for years and stroking the covers in stolen moments, but forgotten their contents. 

Marian stirred after a few pages. “What are you reading?”

“Ah, a poem. A very long poem.” It was Tristan and Isolde. He was not about to confess it.

She sighed again, but this time she smiled drowsily. “It’s beautiful.”

It was not, but Guy continued to read. It was a horridly tragic love story, but she did not need to know that. He read until his throat was raw and Marian's eyes grew soft and dreamy. She need not know that he ended the story while the lovers were still happy.

...


	8. Charter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Sir Edward starts drafting the Magna Carta. Because I couldn't resist forming a plot, and apparently I have no chill.

Edward of Knighton was dying. To be sure, it came as no surprise—he had outlived so many of his peers that he spoke with sons and nephews as often as he spoke with fathers now. Gray hair, and the temperance it tended to bring, was becoming a rarer sight at the council meetings.

The worst kept secret in England was that Prince John wished to be king, King Richard preferred a life of royal ransom to ruling to own kingdom, and Elenor refused to control the purse strings of either. John may not be ideal for the crown, but he was still preferable to a void throne. 

Voids allowed for the entry of rot.

Edward sighed and hauled himself from his chair by the fire. The party Vaisey had demanded his attendance at had held no amusement, and the chair had been hard and unforgiving. Once Marian had him settled in his rooms, a servant had come to help him dress for bed but Edward had stubbornly sat by the fire to think as the servant pulled back the sheet.

And that was the worst of it. His body, with his wheezing breath and cooling extremities, was shutting down, but his mind was sharp. He often hid that fact, pretending not to hear things and letting his gaze slip, but it worked in his favor. It was generally assumed that he was a doddering old fool. People tended to speak freely.

Edward blew out the candle and picked his way across the floor. The shadows pitched in time with the dancing fire, and he settled into bed with relief, easing his aching bones into the thick bed. He had months, he reckoned. Not long enough to accomplish all the things he wanted to.

But maybe enough to accomplish the things he needed to. 

.

The following week found Edward more often at his desk than not. When Marian asked him to join her at supper, he pleaded his head and asked her to have a plate delivered. Sir Guy, her shadow these days, nodded and gently ushered her away in his arms and Edward returned to his stack of parchments. 

Men came in all forms of utility, Edward had found, and a different sort was needed for different tasks. Fine hands were as useless on a blacksmith as a thick chest on a minstrel. Likewise, a man like Sir Guy was nearly ideal to protect and carefully guard Marian, but could hardly be used for Edward’s purposes. Robin Hood, however…

Edward rubbed his tired eyes. It had taken all night to decide, but he had determined the role he could play. He was an old man and could not ride or shoot, but he knew the lineage and seal of every house in England, down to the best fishing holes on their estates. What was the point of all this knowledge if he could not make use of it?

So he wrote letters, altering his hand for different names, and obtained samples of every seal he could recall, carving bits of wood into facsimiles that would pass casual inspection. It took days, and he focused on every name he could ever recall sharing ale or meat with. 

As he worked, it became clear that this could not simply be about Richard, or John, or any one person. Edward tore and burned parchment and rewrote letters, refining his ideas, and selecting the right words, the right recipients.

The pile of spent quills could likely write the words ‘liberties and free customs’ on their own.

.

After some trial and error, Edward found that it took three days to get a message from Nottingham castle to the forest. Messages had to change hands often so no one knew where they were going, and the last stage was a lowly basket hung on a peg alongside drying herbs. Half his notes were blank paper, but every so often it was not.

Edward surveyed his work, a neat stack of a few dozen letters ready for dispatching, accompanied by specific instructions. It would be months or years before the confusion was sorted, and by then what was read and said could not be taken back. By then, the seed would have taken root.

By then, he would be dead.

A knock at his door. Edward locked away his letters quickly.

“Papa?” Marian called through the door. “I thought you might like some soup. It’s very warming.” 

“Come in, come in!” With a grunt, Edward stood and got the door. 

Marian carried in a tray with rich soup and bread and set it on a small table. “I hope you are better today, Papa. We’ve been worried.”

Edward looked up. “We?”

“Well, I… and I have not seen Robin in some days, but I am sure he worries.” She fussed with the tray. “And Sir Guy. He asks after you.”

“I did not see him tonight.”

“No, he is busy.” Marian held the chair and helped him settle into it. “I believe he went to Locksley and will be back in a day or two.”

Edward ate, less for his own appetite but to satisfy Marian, who was pleased with every spoonful. “He should take care not to neglect his estate.”

“It is not--” Marian began, but quickly stopped. She was more careful these days, but needed to rein in her passion for more worthy causes. “Of course he should not. I believe Thornton serves him well, and maintains things in his absence.”

“It is not the same. By the way, when he returns, ask if he could look in on Knighton. I should like to know how the wheat and pigs are coming along and if our tenants are maintaining the gates.”

Marian blinked.

Edward had chosen his words carefully. She would refuse him nothing if it concerned their home. The thaw between her and Gisborne had been lagging behind the weather, and he was not above making her seek him out.

She pursed her lips for a moment. “Yes, Papa. Is there anything else?”

Edward set down the spoon. “Yes, actually. I have some messages that must be delivered.” He slid three wax-sealed parchments from his robes. “The first to the tanner, I need my shoes repaired, the second to the tailor, and the third to the boys in the stables.” Edward leaned over. “And give them a few coins to give our horses a good running.”

Marian took the parchments with a laugh. Edward grinned. She didn’t know that two of them were blank, and one had nothing to do with errands.

“Of course, Papa. Is there anything else? How is the soup?”

“Very good. I’m feeling better after a few days of rest.”

She took his hand in hers. “I’m so glad. I’m sure we’ll be going home soon, and everything will be back to normal.” Her gaze shifted. “And all will be better when Richard returns.”

Edward squeezed her hands. “All will be better.”

.

A knock at the door, and a low hoot. How the man could slip about a castle like a ghost was beyond Edward, but then, those skills were why he was perfect for this task.

Edward opened the door as quietly as he could, and a black-armored knight slipped in.

The armor was ill-fitted.

“Sir Edward,” the knight slid off the dented helmet and pushed back a flop of sandy brown hair. “You are not unwell are you?”

“No, Robin, I am fine. Thank you for coming.”

He looked around. “Is Marian here? I hoped to see her. I’m afraid I angered her.”

“No, she is not angry, but she could not come. I needed to see you myself.”

“I will serve you and Marian in any way I can.” 

Edward shook his head. “We are well enough for now. England, though, needs your help.”

Robin squared his shoulders. “Have you heard from Richard?”

“Yes,” Edward lied, “but he begged that we remain silent, and prepare for his return in a careful way. It would not do to alert anyone, but rather send word to a set of earls and barons. Together, as peers, we can begin certain… precautions.”

Robin whistled in admiration. “He is truly a great king. Such foresight. Of course, what can I do?”

Edward held out his stack of parchments and the instructions. “Take these, and follow the instructions absolutely. If any seals are broken, burn the letter and do not read it.”

“But, Edward!”

Edward gripped the younger man’s arm. “Robin, I know you are loyal, I know you love him, but you must not see the contents, lest you be tempted or compelled to betray him. Promise me, Robin, now!”

Robin stared into Edward's eyes and slid a tiny blade from his sleeve. He barely winced as he drew it across his palm. “I swear to you now, Sir Edward of Knighton, on my life I will not betray nor risk betraying you or our king.” The blood dripped from his clenched fist and splattered upon the parchments. They drank it thirstily.

Edward released his work into Robin’s stained hands, then gripped his shoulders.

“England will rise, Robin of Locksley. And the rule of law will prevail once more.”

For a moment Robin looked curious, but swiftly set his jaw and bowed before sweeping the dented helmet over his head and stashing the letters under his cloak. 

At the door, he bowed again and hesitated. 

“Sir Edward, will you tell--” Robin’s breath caught, and he cleared his throat before trying again. “Please tell Marian that I will come back. I—I will come back for her!”

The men exchanged nods. Robin had said those words before. He probably believed it then as well, but many years had passed. Too many.

At least one of them tried to be honest today. 

Minutes later, as the castle rang with cries of _Robin Hood! Robin Hood!_ Edward laid down to rest. There was to be a dinner later, and he wished to accompany his daughter, not command her every concern. He had no doubt of Robin’s eventual return, but with his absence for some weeks, and the likely increased demands on Vaisey’s time soon by Prince John, Edward hoped to encourage a seed of a different sort to take root.

.


	9. Mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian dutifully tends Edward's shirts. Guy dutifully tends.

Bright morning sun found the ladies of Nottingham with their sewing in the courtyards adjoining the castle’s maze of hanging linens. Rough homespun sheets hung alongside fine linen, drying in the gentle breezes.

The winds also blew a few stray hairs into Marian’s nose. She spluttered and nearly dropped her needle as the other women laughed good naturedly.

“You might want to pin that nest back, my lady. Sir Edward might not enjoy a hairshirt!”

Marian giggled and tucked her hair back as best she could. It felt good to be in the sun and away from the gray walls of the castle. It reminded her of Knighton, tending her chores and managing the grounds as lady of the manor. She listened as the women talked fondly of sweethearts and recipes while they mended and for a moment, Marian envied their rich, busy, mundane lives.

Her father’s cuffs were frayed from the last few weeks. A few stitches had pulled loose and an ink stain had stubbornly refused to budge.  
She must remember to have the cushion on his chair restuffed. 

“Have you finished the cuff, my lady? If you like, I’ll set your stitching for you?”

Marian refocused. “Thank you, no. I was just checking to make sure they were even.” She pushed the needle through and tightened the seam. “I was just thinking about my father.”

One of the women nodded. “Your father’s a good man, my lady. It’s been nice to see him about, even if he isn’t the sheriff.”

A few others hummed in agreement. “Aye, and he’s been up all hours, working away at the desk. I put a dollop of cream in his oats this morn to guard from the cold.”

Marian smiled warmly. “I thank you. That was very kind.”

After a few more minutes of work, Marian noticed an older woman glancing at her mending. “You’ll need a bigger basket before long, my lady.”

Before Marian could either ask why or scoff at the woman’s impudence, a distant rumble filled her ears. The other women sat up and looked at each other before hunching over the work and hurrying their repairs.

The neigh of horses and shouts for grooms to tend them met Marian’s ears. When the sounds of soldiers drew nearer, she looked at her work and kept her eyes down, until she heard him. She was not sure she wanted to see him, but she was certain she could not afford to ignore him.

 _“When he returns, ask if he could look in on Knighton.”_

Her father had asked her.

Marian stood. “Sir Guy?”

He stopped and turned, surprised. “Marian?”

Unwilling to risk losing her needle, she gathered Sir Edward’s shirt and carried it with her. Guy waved his men on, dismissing them as Marian came to his side.

“How was your visit to Locksley, Sir Guy? We expected your return yesterday. Was all well?”

He blinked, squinting from the sun. “All is well. Some changes have been made and I went to approve the work. The crops grow well and the village seems in order.” 

Marian fidgeted and adjusted the shirt in her hands to keep her grip on the seam and selected her words carefully. “Good. It’s a fine estate.” 

Guy, sweating slightly from his ride and the warm sun, loosened his coat and opened his collar. The edges of his shirt collar was frayed. 

“I intend to keep it so.” He held out his arm and Marian lightly took his elbow and walked with Guy to a shaded entryway to the castle.

The shade was refreshing rather than chilling, and Guy opened his coat. The fabric was whole, but poorly finished.

“Guy, I have a request.”

He turned sharply. “Anything.”

She felt her face warm despite the cool air. “My father asks, when you are able, that you might look in at Knighton for him. He is concerned for his lands, and would like to hear news of the fields and pigs.”

Guy walked around her slowly, pacing. “You may tell Sir Edward that the South and West fields are growing very well, the North more slowly. The geese and chickens are off to a slow start but all the pigs survived the spring and the sows have birthed the biggest litters I’ve ever seen. The gates to the shed could do with a few new boards, but I sent my smith over to repair them so he needn’t worry.”

He took a step closer. Marian did not step back. “The house is in good order. Your servants are honest. The garden was well planted and the flowers are in bloom. You should have enough beans, oats, and onions to last all winter and more, though, I hope, you might consider having a portion sent… away.”

He was so near. Marian breathed in and caught a hint of the pine soap the housekeepers at Locksley favored. A few loose threads along his collar snaked along his neck. Guy looked softer somehow. More human.

“You have already been to Knighton,” Marian said quietly.

“Yes,” he looked down and frowned at his boots. “I was coming to see you.”

“You took great care. Why?”

He swallowed. The loose threads moved with the muscles in his neck. “I wish… I wish to show you a different side of me.” 

Marian tilted her head, thinking. She was not sure what force drove her, but she raised her free hand slowly, very slowly, to Guy’s collar. His eyes tracked her movements, but he did not move away, nor did he lean closer. When her fingertips brushed his warm neck his eyes closed, fluttering. 

“Marian,” he sighed softly. 

She ran her fingertips over the threads. “I thought you only wore leather.”

“I wear leather when I am serving Vaisey.”

The slightest touch at her back. Guy was holding her ever so lightly, like he feared adding to her confinement.

“I’ve only seen you in leather,” Marian whispered. 

“I am always serving him.” Guy’s voice was little more than a rumble. Marian could feel it in her fingertips.

She touched his collar again, and drew her hand down, skating his chest. “You are wearing linen.”

The faint touch at her back changed, materialized. Marian could feel his hands rest against her as he leaned closer, his cheek brushing hers.

“I was serving you.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment Marian forgot where she was until a commotion beyond echoed in the hallways.

“Gisborne!”

Guy sighed. When he stepped back, Marian found she had leaned into him and had to steady herself again. The entryway no longer felt like refuge, but the prison Marian knew it to be. 

She gripped her father’s shirt in her hands and nodded at Guy’s unspoken apology. He backed up, moving toward the door as if reluctant to let go of this moment. He opened the door and looked toward the hallway.

“Guy!”

He turned instantly. “Yes?”

Marian’s mouth worked over words, none that fit. They went too far, not far enough, or made no sense. Her thoughts jumbled as her image of him rearranged, as if the harsh stones in the walls suddenly shuffled and resettled into something softer.

“Guy, I… thank you.”

He bowed. “My lady.” The corners of his mouth twitched, and for a moment he was younger, lighter. 

But only for a moment. 

“Gisborne!”

Guy slipped from the room and back into Vaisey’s service, leaving Marian to the silent, gray room, clutching her father’s shirt. She waited until she was sure she would not encounter Vaisey then left as quietly as she could, returning to the sunny yard by the laundry.

A few of the women had left, but the older woman who Marian had nearly corrected was still there, her hands flying rapidly through her work. 

Marian sat next to her and tried to focus on her stitches. She gave up, and turned to the woman.

“You’re right. I need a bigger basket.”

The woman smiled.

.


	10. Influence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian finally begins to see how the game is played.

Though her arm was through his, it was apparent that Marian was guiding her father, Sir Edward on their walk. Though their confinement had been loosened to extend to the immediate grounds, their assigned guards hovered mere paces behind as Marian guided her father through the garden.

She brushed at his sleeve so the trim laid properly. He was having a good day, and hardly leaned on her at all. 

“I’m so glad you came out today, father. It would be a shame to spend such a warm summer day inside.” She glanced at a row of sage and resisted the urge to pluck the leaves. “I have a dozen new quills and sheets of new parchment for you. What in the world have you been working on?”

Edward stepped carefully around a bundle of parsley, dropped from a basket. “I have spent time in thought. I decided that the most important things cannot be got at the end of a sword.” He stopped and faced Marian. “Or, by the point of an arrow, as the case may be.”

Marian picked up the parsley and made a show of examining it. Softly, she spoke, but her eyes were wide with excitement. “Did you write to the king? Have you heard some news?”

He sighed. The guards had stopped to match them, and were distracted by a pair of girls cutting and tying herbs.

“It has been years since Richard left, and it will be years before he returns, if he ever does. He may die in the Holy Land, or he may decide he prefers France to England.”

“But he is the king!” Marian whispered ferociously.

“King of a cold, foggy rock. You have never seen France, Marian. Richard may be content to remain as a lord in France than king in England.”

Marian pressed her palm to her chest, hoping to calm the pounding there, and took Edward’s arm once more. “But, what can be done without a king? What of justice?”

“Is it a king you want, Marian,” he murmured. “Or law?”

“A good king makes good law.” Marian dropped the parsley into a basket and walked on. There was lavender up ahead.

“And what happens when a good king falls ill and dies? There is chaos. Progress made in a lifetime of good work may be wiped away in minutes. Caprice. Greed. But law may transcend the throne. It can be fixed and apply to all.”

Marian said nothing, her eyes fixed on the rows ahead, but her mind churned. 

Edward continued. “No imprisonment without process, no confiscation without payment, no trials without a judge!” Edward coughed, his whispers straining. “They are just ideas for now, but ideas will loosen the stranglehold we live under.”

He coughed again. “But it will take time. You cannot wait so long. Please, Marian, protect yourself.” 

Marian saw Edward’s eyes water, and knew he had no breath for words. 

“Father, please, catch your breath. We can talk later.”

“No! The sheriff…” Edward could speak no more, and could not stop coughing. Marian hated to do it, but she called the guards over and they half carried him away, back the castle. 

Marian hurried to find a maid and ordered hot water and tisane for her father. He still recovered from these attacks, but who knew for how long?

…

Edward slept peacefully after some broth and resting his voice. Marian knew he would be well the next day, but she could not rest yet. These moments seemed to hint at future suffering and she could not cast it from her mind easily, and so she paced the halls and passages of the castle.

She wandered the outer walkways, past arches and through chambers open to the outside, not wanting to be shut into her rooms. The heat of the day was giving way to evening. Supper was some time off and the summer sun would light the castle for hours yet. It fueled Marian’s restless walk, having nothing to do. 

“Marian?”

She spun with a yelp, then covered her mouth until she caught her breath. “Guy. I’m sorry, I did not know you were there.” Her skin prickled, for she was rarely caught so unawares. 

Guy stood at an archway, stark black against the softening sky. His brow was deeply furrowed and hands clenched, unsure. 

“Forgive me.” He approached slowly. “I heard your father took ill today. I came to… find you.”

Marian brushed her hair from her forehead. “I was not lost.” She flinched at her own words. “That is, I find no peace when he is unwell.”

Guy stopped at an arch a few feet away. Close enough to reach out, far enough not to. He leaned against the wall and sighed. “One of the brothers is sitting with him. He reports that your father is comfortable.”

Marian laughed bitterly. “But not improving. I am not a fool, Guy.”

He lowered his head, his bulk drooping for a moment. “No, you’re not.”

“Then why tell me? I am no girl, I need no fairytales.”

Guy raised his head, the sinking sun casting deep shadows beneath his eyes. His voice rasped. “I’m not a man who offers them.” He straightened and stepped forward, jaw pulsing. “Your father is dying. It will be a miracle if he lives to see next spring, and the monks suspect he will not see Christmas.”

“My god,” Marian gasped. It felt as though a blow had landed.

“I could tell you how vulnerable you will be. How Prince John and the sheriff will try to use you to manipulate the last remaining rebellious factions to obedience. How they might use you to bring this region to its knees.”

Marian clutched at the stone wall by her side, refusing to back away as Guy stepped into a shadow in front of her. He dropped his gloves. 

“I could remind you how easy it would be to say yes, to marry me now. To protect yourself and your father, to ensure your future, to shield you from them. To offer you a life of comfort and rank.” He lowered his voice. “To offer you influence.”

Marian swallowed. Her words came, shaky and broken. “Then what did you come to say, if not all this?”

Guy brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, barely touching her neck. 

“That when you sit up with your father, I am always nearby, hoping you will call for me.” 

He swallowed, and Marian found herself once again watching the play of sinew beneath his skin. 

“That when you have need, any need, you will ask for my service.”

Guy's lips trembled. “I came to tell you I find no peace when you suffer.”

The scrape of metal startled Marian, and she looked down. He held out a fine silver dagger. “I came to tell you that I am yours.”

Marian stared at the glinting blade, and her father’s words echoed in her mind. Law. Law before kings. He may be right, but law came on a blade before it was writ with a quill, and blades worked faster.

Arrows broke, but blades could be honed. And they only worked up close. 

She looked up. Guy was pitifully tired, his eyes bright and sparkling from the shadows. Hope, she recognized. These last few weeks had eased their conflicts, bound them by shared misery and his dazzling hope. He’d taken every scrap she dropped and now he was offering himself.

Her father could have his quills. Less steady than she planned, Marian reached for Guy, pulling him close. His cheek was rough but his lips were soft and warm. Breath rushed from him and he kissed her back, needy, nudging her head to the side while his thick arm rose around her. 

When she drew back, he knelt, holding out the dagger.

“Marian. Please,” His voice was ragged and hoarse. “Please, Marian.”

Her lips were still wet from his when she laid her hand on the dagger’s hilt. 

.


	11. Think of England

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian finds herself in the deep end of the pool.

Early summer warmth gave way to storms that tore blooms from their stems and sent the inhabitants of Nottingham scurrying for shelter. The castle was stocked and secured while guards and maids alike hurried about their duties, eager to huddle by a bright fire.

Marian looked through a thin slit at the sheets of rain and bending trees. A dull shiver crept up her arms as a gust peppered her with fine mist. The damp chased the heat from the stone walls and left behind a sticky sheen on everything not near a well fed fire. 

“You must thank Sir Guy, my dear,” Edward chirped from his well stuffed chair. “He checks the fire every day and sends someone round every few hours to tend it. You see how I am never without good logs?”

Marian rubbed her brow. “Yes, father. I shall thank him for you when I see him,” she replied. Again. Edward had taken to repeating himself.

“And when do you expect to see him? I should like to thank him myself but I do not wish to divert him.”

She closed the shutter and lowered the tapestry into place. “Soon.” Marian absently tidied the desk. Such a disarray these days. “Later today, I think.”

“Good, good.” His eyes sharpened. “And have you seen the sheriff?”

Marian looked up, curious at the change in his tone, then carefully set the ink pot in its box. “No,” she said. “I heard he has been with Prince John, though that was days ago. It seems they have been quite… occupied.”

Edward smiled.

…

The storms left the roads around Nottingham impassable, and the servants found themselves accommodating what were visitors to the castle as longer term guests. Marian herself was called upon to organize the staff and she threw herself into the task, unwilling to give Vaisey a new target.

She had enough targets on her back already and, if Marian had more than a few moments of peace, she would have admitted that Guy, too, would be vulnerable.

More vulnerable.

“You, there,” Marian called to the first passing guard in black and yellow, grateful for the distraction. The three maids walking with her all twittered when he bowed to them.

Marian sighed. “Tell Lord Winchester that his rooms are prepared. We will eat at seven in the main hall, or he may take a meal in his rooms.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The guard turned to go. Marian was about to call for her next task when she stopped. 

“Wait!”

He turned instantly. “Yes, my lady?”

“How bad is it? The roads?”

The guard shrugged. “No carts or carriages for three, maybe four days, my lady, but a skilled rider can pass through the woods if he’s careful.”

Marian nodded and turned back to the maids. “My thanks. Please, don’t let me keep you further.”

“Yes, my lady.”

…

Not wanting to crease her dress, Marian stood in her father’s apartments. Part of her plan to deflect attention from herself and Guy involved playing her part well, which meant wearing dresses she normally would not and pretending to enjoy it. There was entirely too much skin on display for her comfort.

“Are you quite certain you won’t join us for dinner? You look like you are feeling well.”

Edward chuckled and patted her arm as he passed. “No my dear. One of the advantages of slowly dying is that you are finally allowed to enjoy the good times. I don’t want to ruin it by sitting on a hard chair with people I dislike eating food I dislike and then feeling terrible for it the next day.”

With an unladylike snort, Marian pulled out her father’s desk chair and helped him sit. “In that, I envy you.”

Edward looked up, his eyes bright. “Do not, child.” He took her hand and clasped it in his. “Pity me, perhaps. But do not envy me, child.”

Marian hated how gray he had become despite the warmth of the room. She gently squeezed his hand and could feel the delicate bones beneath his thin skin, then knelt to kiss his forehead. 

“Then I shall love you.” 

Edward smiled. “A man could do far worse. Now, off with you. Go be a charming host to all those snakes. Any news on when they might leave?”

“I was told that carriages might leave in three or four days,” Marian said as she poured Edward a cupful of water from a pitcher. “But a good rider could come by the forest today.”

Edward’s face turned dreamy and Marian knew he might drift for hours. “Good. Good. Yes, then I must tend my work, dear. Give my excuses to Sir Guy.”

As Sir Edward took up his quill and opened the inkpot, Marian quietly slipped from the room. 

…

None of the visitors to the castle were married, and thus Marian felt as though she dined amidst a sea of serpents. She nudged her chair closer to Guy while Winchester’s head was turned.

“I do not like him,” she whispered at his ear, plastering a smile on her face.

“No one does,” he whispered back. “But the sheriff needs his signature, and that is why we will pretend.” Guy paused, and Marian watched his eyes flicker over her, lingering. “You are lovely tonight. Tell me if you get cold?”

A touch at her arm. Marian looked down and saw his hand, relaxed and loose, on his armrest. A guard approached and bowed to Guy as he made a quick report.

She could ignore it, or pretend she did not see it. 

A servant cleared a platter and set a dish of strawberries over delicate pastry before them. Unable to help herself, Marian leaned for a better look. A few feet away, on Guy’s other side, she caught sight of Winchester’s leering gaze and sat back quickly. When she glanced over once more, there was speculation in those eyes. 

Guy’s hand remained, waiting. 

More boldly than she felt, Marian brushed her fingertips along his arm and felt his swift inhale at her shoulder. The conversation between Guy and the guard ended abruptly and Marian slipped her fingers between his. Guy turned partway, his face softened with the tiniest smile.

Winchester raised an eyebrow. “You and your lady are handsome together, Sir Guy. Have you scheduled the wedding?”

Sharp words were forming on Marian’s tongue when Guy spoke. “With the sheriff away and her father quite ill, it has been… challenging.”

“But not challenged?” Winchester looked about the room. “I heard there was a prior claim?”

Guy gripped her hand. A muscle pulsed in his jaw, even though he stroked her wrist with his thumb.

“A betrothal arranged in childhood and later abandoned.”

Marian looked down. It was a harsh summation, no matter how accurate. 

Winchester raised his goblet. “To you, Lady Marian. You are as lovely as your mother ever was.”

As the table toasted her, Marian glanced around, nodding in turn, and finished by offering a slight bow to Winchester, as much as she hated to.

Knowing how it would look, but unwilling to appear anything but happily betrothed, Marian leaned forward once more, holding fast to Guy’s hand with one hand as she reached into the dish of sweets with the other. She retrieved one with a delicate slice of berry on top and held it out to Guy.

“My lord,” she said, loud enough for a few to hear. For a brief moment, Guy looked unsure. She was not prone to blatant display, public or private, and they’d shared only a kiss. 

Marian flicked her eyes towards where Winchester sat and willed Guy to understand. No matter what she felt, she needed his protection, so she smiled softly and craned her neck to whisper, “He’s watching.”

“I’m sure he is,” Guy whispered back, and he chuckled as though she’d told him a secret, then plucked the sweet from her fingers with his mouth. His eyes were liquid as he looked at her and kissed her fingertips. 

Marian’s breath caught in her throat, but their playacting had the desired effect. The table was murmuring appreciatively, and Winchester’s face was red.

“I should like to see my father before he retires, Sir Guy,” Marian announced. “Will you escort me to his rooms?”

Guy rose quickly. He ignored the whistles and catcalls. “Duty calls, my lords. I will return once I’m finished with my… errand.”

…

They were silent through the first few passages to Edward’s chambers. Guy held up a lamp against the darkness. Not quite enough light to brighten the cold rock, but enough to chase the emptiness and warm the gray stones to a dull gold.

It was Guy who broke the quiet. “I’m sorry, Marian. Once the sheriff returns, Winchester will meet with him and then leave. No more than a few days more and… and I’ll make sure you’re never alone with him. I’ll plan some excuses that keep him occupied.”

“Thank you,” Marian said gratefully. He offered much effort in return for so little. 

Thinking, Marian slowed her walk. “How did you find the sweet?”

Guy’s boot suddenly scuffed, breaking his stride. “I liked it very much, but,” he paused, and Marian turned.

The lamp gilded Guy’s edges, illuminating his profile. “But what?”

He cupped her elbow and drew her closer. “There is something I like better.”

A feather touch, so light Marian thought she’d imagined it. So light she sought it again to be sure it was real. Tremors in Guy’s lips, a quaking in his breaths. His hand at her cheek, warm and roughened with work. A firmer touch, another. A tiny pull at her lower lip where he’d held it between his. 

“Marian…”

His lips were at the bridge of her nose. His free hand traced the plait in her hair, the side of her neck, and skipped along the edge of her gown there.

“Please, Marian,” Guy rasped. Words ground through gravel and blown by wind.

“Guy,” Marian struggled against forces she had no name for. “I… I must see my father.”

A sigh, though by the lamp Marian could see him smile, lips traced with light. Another kiss, now on her forehead, then her cheek. 

“Come. I’m sure he’s eager to see you.”

…

As Guy bid Marian good night and instructed the guard to escort her to her rooms in a half hour, Marian realized the words he’d said.

_Please, Marian._

It was an entreaty. Perhaps a question.

_Please Marian._

Though, thought of a little differently, it might have also been a command.

…

Marian had only begun to greet her father and tell of Winchester’s visit when a knock came at the door.

“I have a half hour,” Marian called. “Please wait.”

More knocking, louder. Marian growled and stomped across the room and hauled open the door.

“I can’t have been more than five minutes. Guy specifically said I had a half hour!”

The guard guffawed.

From behind her, Marian could hear her father’s wheezing laughter.

“What is going on?” she demanded.

The guard bent over and the helmet plopped into his hands. “Well, I’d hoped to be more dignified when I came this time, but here I am.” Robin scrubbed a hand through his flopping hair and grinned.

Marian covered her mouth with surprise. “Father?” She turned, and Edward’s smile did not reach his eyes for a moment. He reached out for her and Marian went to him. 

At her ear. “His truth may not be yours. Take care.”

Behind her, the helmet was set on the desk. When she turned, Marian saw that a quill was crushed under a metal edge.

“Welcome back, Sir Hood!” Marian said brightly. Robin opened his arms and she let herself be wrapped in his embrace. Lean and wiry. For the first time that she could recall, she did not lean into him. “And where have you been these long weeks?”

Robin’s playful grin hardened. “I have been delivering letters.”

“Letters?” Marian looked at her father. Edward nodded, his eyes holding the same message of caution.

Robin gripped her upper arms. “The King has sent word that the nobles are to prepare for his return. Quietly, no fanfare. I have delivered your father’s missives to all the houses loyal to Richard.”

Marian smiled. “That’s wonderful. All of England will rejoice!”

“We have been blessed, Marian! Only a few more months. Your father says Richard may arrive as soon as Christmas this year.”

Edward coughed.

“Indeed,” Marian began carefully, affixing her smile. “Joyous news!”

Robin lowered his eyes and took her hands. “Sweet Marian,” he said softly. “I have put you through so much. Said, done things that wronged you. But, see, we can be together soon. Can you bear it? Just until Christmas? When the king returns, I will be pardoned and restored, your father will be sheriff again, and everything can be as it should!”

Tears stung Marian’s eyes, blurring her vision. Blurred, but not blind. 

She swallowed her anger, her frustration at having to stay silent, to not point out how much of this dream was fantasy. Cobwebs to be cleared.

Robin mistook her tears and silence for joy, grabbing her into a tight hug. “I know! It is the most wonderful thing.” He lifted her up and swung her around like she was a girl. “Marian, I have dreamed of this for so long. Say you’ll wait for me. Promise me that we’ll have the life we planned.”

Marian was unable to do anything but hold on until he set her on her feet. When he did, she could see Edward’s face over Robin’s shoulder. 

He gave her a grim nod.

“Of course, Robin. When the king returns. I will marry you when the king returns.”

…

When Robin delivered her to her door, giddy and altogether too nimble for a guard, Marian was able to bid him goodnight with a smile. As soon as the door closed, she leaned against it heavily.

Time passed whether one was in the room or not. It seemed Robin had not noticed her father’s condition, nor her weary care of him. 

Marian prepared for bed and slid into the cool linens. From her opened windows she watched men walking the walls, torches bobbing with their strides like fireflies, throwing light and shadows in stark relief as the guards passed between partitions.

Like lamplight on gray walls. Like golden light tracing the edge of a kiss.

It was late into the night when Marian drifted into an uneasy sleep filled with arrows and the clash of swords. 

...


	12. Pens and Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winchester bargains for Sussex, a bit of Surrey, and Marian. Guess which one Guy isn't happy about?

Sir Guy of Gisborne looked out over the yard and ground his teeth together. Winchester’s men had once again crept toward the domestic side of the castle, and he was running out of ways to occupy them in the practice yard and guard house.

Winchester himself was content to stay near Vaisey’s office, but had been annoyed when his meals had been served there. There were only so many maps and charts the man could be expected to examine before he demanded free run of the castle.

Which happened on the second day. 

Unable to warn Marian himself, for Winchester stayed irritatingly near, he pulled aside her relief guard right before the midday shift change.

“Inform Lady Marian to keep to her rooms today. She may visit her father but only if you escort her yourself.” Guy inclined his head toward Winchester. “See that she is undisturbed. There’s a silver in it for you.”

The man nodded. “Aye, sir!”

…

It could not be said that Guy had ever been happy to see Vaisey return, but he admitted that relief was close enough.

Guy took the horse’s reins. “Were the roads well enough to ride, my lord?”

“Well enough. We cut through the forest but not too deep. We heard Robin Hood had returned to Sherwood.” Vaisey squinted at him. Guy had the distinct impression he was being inspected. “I presume you haven’t plowed any fields in my absence?”

His guts recoiled, but he kept still. “Marian and I have an understanding. We were awaiting your return to set the documents with her father.”

Vaisey waved a bored hand. “Whatever. Tell me about all these men. Is that Winchester’s livery I see?”

“Yes, my lord. He’s been here since the storm. He wished to meet with you as soon as possible.”

Vaisey threw up his hands. “He can wait another hour. I want a bath, Gisborne. Order me one. And I want extra roses; no sense in letting them rot on the stem like your leper.”

…

Guy escorted Winchester to the meeting room for what he hoped was the last time. In a matter of hours the pompous bastard would be gone

Only then could he could risk seeing Marian again. Tonight, he promised himself. Tonight he would begin the papers with Sir Edward and by the next evening they would be ready for Vaisey. Strictly speaking, Guy did not need Vaisey’s approval, but it would help. It might persuade Vaisey to loosen some restrictions if Guy could assure that she, and therefore Knighton, Locksley, Nettlestone and others, were under control.

As if anyone could control Marian.

“Just this way, my lord. The sheriff is waiting for you.”

He loved that about her. Edward raised his daughter to be a bold woman. She could be sharp as flint and dangerous as coal dust or as kind and gentle as…

As his mother. 

Was it any wonder that he loved her?

Winchester waited at the door for Guy to open it. Pompous ass.

“Just in here, my lord.”

Winchester covered his mouth in mock surprise. “Really? I thought we might take another hallway. I do so love this drafty old warren.”

They went in and Winchester joined Vaisey at the table while Guy slowly paced the edges of the room. Goblets of wine were laid out with a tray of fruit and cheese. 

“My dear Winchester,” Vaisey cooed. “Do forgive my delay, I was in conference with the Prince. I hope we were able to keep you entertained?” Vaisey looked at Guy.

“A delightful way to be marooned, I assure you. I would have liked to see a bit more of some certain attractions, but all in good time.” Winchester plucked a berry and ate it, sucking juice from his fingers. “Tell me, what kept you with Prince John?”

Vaisey waved a hand. “There’s a rabble of barons in Sussex going on about liberties and free customs.”

“Surely this is no problem. Root out the leader and let him rot in a prison.” Winchester smiled as if quite pleased with his solution.

“These aren’t forest bandits, my friend. And that’s it. There is no leader.” Vaisey shuddered as if chilled and walked towards the fire dramatically. 

“The rabble has no leader. And that, dear Winchester, is why the Prince needs your assurance of loyalty and support.”

Winchester shrugged. “Give me Sussex.”

Vaisey stilled, his silk robe wafted and settled around him limply. “Sussex?”

“Give me Sussex and I’ll quiet your rabble.”

Vaisey’s head pivoted upon his neck. “Sussex.”

“And a bit of Surrey.”

“A bit.” Vaisey’s face turned pink. “A bit. Of Surrey?”

“Just a bit.” Winchester picked up a goblet and sniffed. “Oh yes, and the girl.”

“What girl?”

Guy’s neck grew hot.

Winchester held up the goblet to the light. “I always envied Edward of Knighton. My father tried to get me Kate but she married Edward instead. But, you know, I rather think the throw surpassed the dam, don’t you?”

Guy stepped forward. “My lord!”

Vaisey held up a hand, and Guy snapped his mouth shut. The sheriff tutted. “Too much, my lord.”

Winchester set the goblet down. “Give me Sussex, the edge of Surrey, and Marian, and I’ll have your rebellion quashed by harvest.”

“My lord, please!” Guy’s heart pounded, unsure if he wanted to scream or fight.

Vaisey slapped a hand on the table. “Sussex and the girl. I keep Surrey.”

“Hmm. Hard bargain, but I’ve always been a romantic.” Winchester raised the goblet and drank. Then he looked at Guy, flexing his ring encrusted fist. “I do hope the merchandise is intact. I’d hate to return a broken filly.”

Vaisey laughed loudly. “Not to worry. Gisborne’s sword is so rusted I doubt he could find a whore’s scabbard.” 

Pain ricocheted behind Guy’s brow, his skin tightening, belly churning. It all meant nothing. There was nothing. He was nothing. 

“Ah, and here is some of our finest wine, my lord.” Vaisey sloshed a generous measure into Winchester’s goblet. “Now, here’s the pact, let me fetch you a quill.”

…

Marian struggled and was tied.

She spoke and was gagged.

Her fine ivory leather case had been carelessly crammed to the brim. Her things, and the things Guy had given to her, shoved and damaged on the way in. The edge of an embroidered shawl he’d given her was hanging from the clasp, delicate stitching smashed by the metal.

There was no doubt the life Winchester had planned for her. Her confinement at Nottingham would be a pleasant dream. 

For both of them. 

“Such a lovely day, Lord Vaisey.” Winchester swayed from the stupendous quantity of wine he’d swallowed in celebration of his success. “I cannot wait to see how it ends.” 

Marian’s eyes widened with renewed disgust. Guy could just imagine the volley of words held back by the gag.

His eyes stung. Those lips. Sweet, soft lips he’d kissed would be cracked within an hour. 

Christ, had he known, he would have wed her while Vaisey was away, damn the politics of the thing. Damn all the politics.

The skull-like grin on Vaisey’s face was ruthless. “The Prince will begin the arrangements immediately. I have already sent word with my fastest messenger of the joyous occasion.”

Winchester laughed, jerking the chain Marian’s bound wrists were attached to. The rough iron manacles, bare metal against her skin, were too tight. 

Her wrists, too. He’d kissed those. 

Guy gripped the pommel of his sword and ground his teeth until his vision blurred. Winchester’s amusements would leave Marian wounded and bleeding for days. Her wrists were reddening with every thoughtless tug.

“That’s a delight to hear,” Winchester drawled. “To your fastest messenger!” He pulled Marian’s arms up in a mocking cheer.

Gutted, Guy shrank into the shadow of a pillar. With his last glance, he caught Marian’s furious glare. He felt himself wither as it shifted from anger to pleading. 

…

Guy had once known a dog that lost its mate. It had paced restlessly near their shared nest, refusing food, until it finally laid down and stayed there.

Years later, he regretted having tempted the beast with treats. It had only drawn out the inevitable.

And now, Guy felt nothing. Not the weight of his gear nor the hard chair grinding into his spine. The tool marks in the stone walls blurred from time to time. A tremor passed through him, no more than a pebble dropped in still water.

The tip of his, Marian’s, silver dagger twirled on his fingertip, glinting in the firelight. The drop of blood it drew came with a sting, the only thing that was real. 

There was no purpose. None worth his efforts. Marian and everything she meant had been his reasons. She’d meant redemption, home and future. Something other than the endless parade of titles to bow and scrape to. A pearl glowing in a load of slag.

The doors opened and clanged shut. Guy did not react. He pressed the point harder into his finger.

“Tsk, tsk. None of that, Gisborne.” Vaisey nudged a stool aside with his slipper and stood in front of him.

“She’s gone. I’ve lost her,” Guy ground out.

“Hmm. Yes. Before you even had her.” 

Guy sucked in a breath. That was petty, even for Vaisey. His insults today had been more personal than usual.

“Now don’t be that way,” Vaisey touched Guy’s cheek, wiping at the streaks he found there. “My, yes... I had to bait the hook well, my dear boy.”

Guy frowned. “What?”

Vaisey dropped his hand from Guy’s cheek, clenching his fists. “Did a messenger leave today, Gisborne?”

His records, the roads, the horses, the fast riders. Guy would have hand selected one, he would have authorized the departure and ordered the opening of the gate. Very little arrived or left Nottingham without him knowing, certainly not his own men. 

“No.” A flicker. Just a flicker in Guy’s chest but it was as strong as the dagger’s tip.

“You don’t think I’d let that little cocksmear take Sussex from me, did you?”

“You said you needed him to suppress the rebellion in Sussex.”

Vaisey laughed. “No, I needed his signature.” His smile lost its mirth and was replaced with cruelty.

His heart judded against his ribs. In the space between the caged leaps and tremors, Guy was yanked from malaise to hyperawareness. 

He’d seen the scroll. Winchester had signed and sealed it. It was done.

Guy jolted from the hard chair, blood rushing. 

Vaisey smiled. “Ahh, there he is. Now, let’s bring back Sussex.”

Guy’s footstep halted. He’d follow where he was led, but not for treats. Not to prolong the pain. Guy held up the silver dagger, catching the firelight once more. The blade’s wicked sheen reflected a hint of the hellfire that followed it.

Vaisey sighed. “Fine. We’ll bring her back, too.”

...


	13. The Pointy End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winchester enlightens Marian. Guy offers an alternative argument.

The gag was less for restraint than a reminder to not bother. The same could not be said for the bindings on her ankles and wrists. Marian stopped testing their strength to spare herself further damage.

“My castle is lovely,” Winchester slurred. “If you behave yourself, I’ll even let you see it, but no more riding. It ruins a woman, you know. Until then, well, you’ll find your accommodation less than the best we have to offer.”

Marian resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He’d not risk her health in a dungeon, so it would be servant’s quarters. It would be crude, but hardly like living in the forest.

Winchester scooted closer. “You’ll be a fine decoration for my Great Hall, once you’re tamed. Edward let you grow like a wild bramble, all briar roses and thorns.” He snaked a hand over her belly. “I’ll have you blooming like a proper lady soon enough.”

With a rough swipe, Marian shoved his touch away, crying out into the gag as the metal bonds cut into her wrists. 

Winchester laughed. “Looks like Gisborne couldn’t manage you, either. Well, I have a habit of succeeding where others fail. Many others, as it seems in your case.” He fiddled with the curtains of the carriage, sealing out any view she had. 

Marian cradled her throbbing wrists to her chest. Her skin was ragged and her fingers felt cold. The carriage jostled, driving the iron bands into her once again. Though she was unable to see the road, the uneven tilt could only mean that they had entered the forest.

Robin. 

Surely he would have heard. Surely he would come.

Her wrists were seeping blood.

“You will be interested to know that I have quite an excellent memory, my lady. I recall my earliest lessons with shocking detail, and can recite with perfect accuracy the names of all my tenants, their children’s names, and how much they pay in rent and tax every year. A rather useful skill these days, don’t you think?” 

Marian refused to respond.

“It’s been some years, but I recall the days when our finest young men were setting off with Richard. All white capes and shining shields. I knew most would never return, and my dearest friend and I exchanged many a letter discussing the stupidity of it all, the pointless waste of the whole campaign. I looked forward to his letters, knowing that his writing brought the last good sense left in England.” 

Winchester dabbed absently at the darkening blood on her wrists with a handkerchief. 

“The days came when another crowd of loyal lads were polished and readied for the trip. My friend asked me to come and stay with him to give a final feast for the young man betrothed to his daughter.”

Marian glared. 

He ignored her and continued. “So you can imagine my surprise when the very boy was dressed as a page and delivered a fascinating letter in my friend’s handwriting just a few months ago!” Winchester patted Marian’s knee as if they had shared a great joke.

“Edward tried, you know. He tried to hide his hand but his loops you know… loopy as his head these days, I hear. I realize Gisborne will never be an ally after this, for whatever time he has left, but if I have you I can subdue all of Sussex and this little uprising. I'm going to gather up the other letters and present them as proof of your father’s treason and indict the Sheriff at the same time as the treason occurred under his roof.”

Marian blinked, half blinded by dawning realization, and sickened by the sudden whirling in her stomach. 

Dear lord, he’d planned it all. This is what it felt like to see the end of hope, the death of justice. 

“Prince John would be a fool to let me have all of Winchester, Sussex, Nottingham, Knighton, and Locksley, but he’ll have no choice but hang the traitors and expand my estates as a reward. I’ll quietly pass lands to my nephews and graciously swear to keep you as my wife, unable to spread your father’s poison.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I may say you’re soft in the head like your father. Might smooth a few things later.”

As Winchester chuckled at his own brilliance, Marian’s mind raced. His idea had probably not seen the outside of his skull until now, and he only told her because he believed her defeated. 

And if Robin did not come soon, she would be.

The carriage slowed, rattling to a stop. Marian held her breath, waiting for the whoop of ambush. Robin would whisk her off to the forest, but he might let Winchester go. He was careful about killing when it came to peers and titles.

With an oath, Winchester stood and opened the carriage door. Marian chewed the gag, thinking through the possibilities. Winchester would humiliate her father, get Sussex, and quite possibly have all their necks stretched. 

If she wasn’t hanged, she’d be an orphan. Guy’s words echoed in her ears, only it wasn't Prince John and the sheriff who were using her. If she wasn’t executed, she’d be sold off as a favor.

If she lived, she would end up Winchester’s wife anyway. 

As her stomach rolled, Marian strained to hear. There were only low voices outside. That was strange—Robin liked nothing better than making his speeches before making his point.

“Why have we stopped?” Winchester asked imperiously, bored. 

Marian could only hear a murmur, so she scooted over on the bench seat and looked out, peering behind Winchester.

A guard, draped in flowing back, was edging closer to the doorway to the carriage. Prowling. Quick and deadly despite his bulk. Far too big to be Robin. 

A hand darted beneath the black cloak and Marian watched, ignoring the conversation in front of her. A flash of sunlight blinded her, a reflection off metal. A blade.

Her blade. 

The hood dropped, and Guy took another silent step closer. His eyes scanned her and took in her gag, the thick iron bands on her wrists. 

His lip curled in fury, and he held up the dagger and nodded his head toward Winchester. 

Marian saw the question. Read it in the grim set of the cool eyes and the tense grip on the blade. The blade he’d offered up. The blade she commanded. Marian glanced at Winchester’s profile and remembered his threats, glared down at her bleeding wrists. Saw his sleeves crusted with jewels—finery paid for by a thousand cruelties. 

Marian met Guy’s gaze, and narrowed her eyes.

The blade flashed once more. Lightning. A wet rip.

.

Marian remembered little of the ride back to the castle. Her bones were jarred, but her hands were free, and her mouth was unbound. Free to speak, but there were no words. 

What was there to say? She’d mumbled her thanks, and from there her words caught, shaken loose.

Shaken.

So she clung to the only thing there was to hold. Solid. 

Guy pressed her hands, gripping like a vice around his middle. “You’re safe, Marian.” 

Marian felt the words as much as heard them. Impressions of the forest blurred, a familiar turn blended into a heap of stone then a darkened copse. She held tight as a shadowy figure, lean and fair, took shape against the beeches. Marian buried her face into the leather before being jarred again. 

When she looked again, it was gone.

“I have to take you back to the castle,” Guy apologized.

She closed her eyes. Vaisey was not far. She could hear his horse.

“I know.”

“We wouldn’t have to if…” Guy cleared his throat. “If—if we,” he trailed off. 

Marian held fast and pressed her forehead to his back. She had no words. What was there to say?

...


	14. Strength and Sweetness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tending wounds is a nasty business. So is mixing love and politics.

Maids scurried back and forth, carefully diverting their paths around Guy as he paced outside the bathing rooms.

His hands had ceased their shaking, but now he needed to destroy every trace of the day. Not a single scrap should remain. If he could, he would salt the paths Winchester had walked so everything he’d touched would die. Purge. A sacrifice. 

A girl nudged through the door, arranging a load in her arms.

“My lord, as you asked.”

“Good.” Guy took the heap and strode off towards Marian’s rooms. The fire was well stoked and blazing. Too high. He dropped the heap by the hearth and poured wine. 

Guy stared into the fire and let the wine scrape down his raw throat. Christ, he’d nearly lost her, but like Vaisey had said, was she even his? He’d been truthful—the papers were drawn up, it had been a matter of timing. Her father’s health, Vaisey’s demands, the coordination of Nottingham, and the estates of Lockley and Knighton all took his time. He was fortunate to see Marian at all some days, let alone court her and further their match.

He’d failed her. Guy of Gisborne, landless lord, grasping lackey, had failed at the one thing that might free him. Redeem him.

If he wished to be a husband he needed to act like one. He could only accomplish so much with his sword. Marian would need a shield as well. 

Skilled fighters knew how to use both, and Guy of Gisborne was nothing if not a skilled fighter. Could he manage to be more?

The wine was days old and turning sour. The chambermaids had not expected Marian to return. Guy drank it quickly and yelled for fresh wine and linens as he jabbed the fire viciously. Logs collapsed and the first coals showed, glowing a hot yellow.

Guy kicked at the heap on the floor. Sour wine rose in his throat when he bent to pick it up and Guy had to swallow hard. He shook out the soft tan dress, shot through with red. It was handsome, if hastily made.

It would make no difference to the flames.

…

Guy was nudging a fresh log into place and debating adding another when Marian entered, flanked by maids. One of them had a medicine case, and Guy directed her to set it on the table.

“Sir Guy,” Marian said with a wobbly curtsey. Her damp hair was tightly plaited.

“My lady,” Guy bowed. The last chambermaids finished smoothing the new linens and the maids with Marian lingered, fussing with her loose gown and robe. Guy tried holding his hands behind his back, then crossed in front of his chest, and finally wished he could cut them off. “Have you eaten?”

Marian smiled slightly. “A bit. I have very little appetite.”

Guy held up the new, shining flagon. “Some wine, then?”

The chambermaids all filed out then, and Marian dismissed her attendants with a few words. 

“But my lady, the wounds--” 

Marian held up her hand. “Are hardy worth seeing to. I can manage.”

They left reluctantly. Guy could not tell if their nervous curtsies were for fear of him or on behalf of their mistress. Marian stood by the door as they left. Once the door was completely closed, her patient smile dropped and she leaned against the door.

Guy filled a goblet to the brim. “Here, drink.”

“You often seem to offer me wine,” Marian said as she rubbed her forehead. “I do not wish to be drunk.”

“I am going to dress your wounds. It will be easier if you are.” Guy poured a second goblet and took a drink.

Marian straightened. “I will see to myself.”

He wanted to lash out—remind her of how the day might have ended had she ‘seen to herself’ or had he not intervened. He wanted to remind her that she might not be so well tended, but the words stilled.

He was not here to berate her.

Guy opened the chest and took out salve and bandages, then carried them to the chairs by the fire. Marian’s shoulders, set with steel moments ago, were softer. She walked to the table and raised the goblet.

“Ouch,” she muttered, and raised a hand to her lips.

“I can treat that, too,” Guy said gently as he warmed the jar of salve in his hands.

She stood, looking at the chairs, touching her lips. Guy opened the jar and went to her, cursing himself. He should have seen to her earlier, for her lips were swollen and cracked. In the light of the fire, he could see the thin red lines of blood around her mouth. Painful, but not bad. He touched her jaw, tracing the bone with his fingertips.

“Marian?”

That stubborn chin softened and she tilted her head back, offering her lips. Guy swiped the salve and smoothed it over her lips, then around her mouth where the gag had rubbed and chafed.

When he finished, Marian raised her goblet and drank deeply, wincing but not stopping. As she lifted the goblet, her sleeve shifted and Guy was able to see her arms.

He eyed the ragged skin left by her bindings-- he’d been too hasty with Winchester’s death. The rings of shredded wounds at her wrists would take days to scab properly so she could wear lighter bandages. 

Guy took her emptied goblet and filled it again. “Another. Quickly.”

“Why?”

He handed her the goblet then pushed the sleeve up. Marian grimaced. Guy poured wine onto a linen bandage. “I need to clean them.” 

Marian stared at her wrist, turned her hand over and saw that the weeping wound was all around. She carried her goblet to a chair by the fire, sat, and held out both wrists.

It was as much of an invitation as he would get. 

Guy sat opposite and took her free hand. “Drink”

She took a mouthful. Once she swallowed, Guy pressed the wine-soaked bandage into her injury.

“Ouch!”

“Drink.”

“What will that help?” Marian panted.

“If you have to ask, you haven’t had enough.”

She drained the goblet again, and did so one more time after.

As her eyes began to glaze over, Guy wiped away the last of the dirt lodged in the wounds and applied salve in a thick layer before wrapping each wrist carefully. Then he filled her goblet again.

“Do you wish to see your father?”

Marian took the goblet. “Does he know?”

“No.”

She frowned and held up her wrist. “No. Not until these heal enough.” She drank her wine. “But… perhaps you might tell him that I am unwell, and do not wish to make him ill.”

The air in the room changed, as though a window had been thrown open. Marian’s face, sore as it was, was softened by a flush, and she pushed her slippers off. 

Guy knelt down to pick them up. “I’ll double the guard on your door tonight.”

“Unnecessary.” Her hand rested on his shoulder. It was such a small gesture, but it was common place things that he craved the most, so he sat by her chair and leaned against the side. Slowly at first, but surely so, her fingers crept to the back of his neck.

“I will guard you tonight, my lady,” he breathed. Her hand was in his hair, lightly combing, as she gazed into the fire. Guy slipped his arm behind her legs and leaned his head against her thigh.

The gentle sweeps through his hair were slow and steady, accidental bumps to her wrists elicited no more than an adjustment to her movement, not gasps of pain. A brush on his cheek, then again in his hair. Guy imagined the scene in soft color, two lovers reclining before a fire, before or perhaps after, and he stroked her ankle, tracing the bones. Pressed his face to her thigh. Wished it was true.

He wanted to stay here, close to her. He wanted to carry her to bed and hold her all night, and kiss her awake when the sun rose. More. But her fingers were slower, and he wished to have this forever, not just tonight. When her hand fell to the side, Guy sighed and uncurled from the floor.

She gave him a sleepy smile when he laid her in her bed and tugged a blanket to her shoulders. He forced himself to walk away, to put away the supplies and stoke the fire.

As he pushed the coals into a pile, his eyes fell on a scrap of red. The edge was scorched and black, the stitches as crooked and flimsy as the reason it was made. Guy threw the bit into the fire and watched as it fluttered in the draft and settled on a coal before it blackened and turned to ash.

“Guy?”

“Yes?” He set the poker back on the stand, then stood by her bed and took her outstretched hand.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

Guy could not help himself. He kissed her cheek, and let his lips graze hers. 

“Yes. Sleep, Marian.”

…

Guy signaled to the guard to open the door. Sir Edward, weary but sitting at his table, looked up from his supper.

“Sir Guy, to what do I owe your visit?”

“A matter of some urgency.” Guy ordered the guard out of the room and closed the door. “I will speak plainly, and I trust you will do the same.”

...


	15. Success is Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically chapter 14, part 2. Edward loves the taste of victory.

_Sir Edward, weary but sitting at his table, looked up from his supper._

_“Sir Guy, to what do I owe your visit?”_

__

__

_“A matter of some urgency.” Guy ordered the guard out of the room and closed the door. “I will speak plainly, and I trust you will do the same.”_

...

Edward stirred his porridge, swirling the cream into a pool and letting it puddle onto the honey. He glanced up as Gisborne paced and waited.

Gisborne stripped off his gloves and dropped them on a table. “You know Harold of Winchester?”

Edward’s vision blurred as he smiled. “Oh yes. A dear old friend. Is he coming to Nottingham?”

“No. He’s just left, and won’t come again,” Gisborne said flatly.

Edward glanced up. Gisborne did not elaborate, his silence providing all the clarity Edward needed, so he stirred his bowl of porridge, saving a dollop of honey on the side.

Gisborne stopped pacing. “What interests might he have had with Sussex?”

The porridge was properly sweet. Edward hated unsweetened mush. “His family had a piece of it long ago. I always suspected he wanted to get it back.”

Gisborne paused. “What interests might you have in Sussex, Sir Edward?”

Edward set down his spoon and tapped the heavy stonework edge of his bowl. “Our lands have always been ruled by kings but led by custom. When kings refuse to respect that custom, it causes unease and upheaval.” Edward folded his hands under his chin. “The precise head that a crown rests upon is less important than maintaining regular customs and liberties. Would you not agree, Sir Guy of Gisborne?”

“I said I would hear you speak plainly, sir.”

“Or what?” Edward scoffed, eyeing Gisborne's clenched fist. “You’ll have me killed? Take a chair, lad, I shan’t be long.” 

Gisborne glanced at the fire, then looked at the floor.

Edward sighed. “I am old, Guy, and I am tired. I am tired of capricious favor, and I am tired of waiting. I’m too old to fight, but I’m old enough to know how to win.” He picked up his spoon. “Even if I won’t live to see victory.”

Guy sat across the table and fixed his gaze on Edward. “Who should?”

“Marian,” Edward answered without hesitation. Yes, the porridge was quite fine today. “My daughter should know what it is to live in peace. And Knighton. Locksley. London. Sussex. All of England should prosper.”

As Edward took another hearty spoonful, Guy rubbed his brow as though pained. “Marian is not assured of the freedom to enjoy your... victory.”

“Why not?”

Guy clenched his jaw. “She has... prior commitments.”

Edward slurped. “Ah, yes. Robin.”

“Has he demanded her?”

He really must give the maid an extra coin. She was generous with the cream today. “Yes.”

Guy slammed his fist on the table. The bowl of porridge bounced.

Edward snorted. “You said you would hear me speak plainly.” He pushed his well of honey back to safety. “Robin of Locksley would wed Marian when Richard returned to England.”

“And Marian wishes for this?”

“Marian knows her own mind, and she is here. Not in the forest.”

“She prefers the comforts of the castle.”

“She prefers reality.” The last bite, pure cream and honey. Delicious. “Marian is no fool, and neither am I.”


	16. Player Two has Entered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Got a huge project wrapped up and my mind belongs to me a little bit (for a week or so). In the meantime, know that this chapter took me about 6 tries. It's probably still mangled...

Marian heard the soft scrape of pottery. Quiet footfalls. The thought crossed her mind to open her eyes, but sleep still claimed her limbs. She was tired to her very bones. She wanted to hide.

Years ago, she’d hidden. To the dismay of the whole house, she’d spent a day locked in her room and cried as only a disappointed young maid can. She’d lain abed and sobbed for love, for the handsome earl, for the things his title brought that she would no longer have, for the increased burden on her father, and most especially she wept for herself because she was being asked to set aside her plans; to turn her life upside down for the sake of someone else’s sense of duty and honor. She wept for how nothing was going the way it was supposed to.

Just like now. Marian sighed.

“I’m so sorry, my lady. I did not mean to disturb you, but as you’re awake,” the maid began to drone. “Will you have breakfast and select a dress, my lady? A fine new one was delivered just this morning to replace…” the maid hesitated. “To replace the one… the damaged one.”

Marian recalled that day of cajoling and threats, pleas and bribes. Finally, her father had tired of it, and he came to her room.

Sir Edward had knocked only once, then let himself in. _Life goes on, Marian,_ he’d told her. Life goes and on and so must we. There was no mistaking his meaning. Her mother had died when she was a child, and Edward had not dropped from the world-- he’d had a daughter to raise, an estate to manage, tenants to see to, and the law of the land to uphold. 

_One hour,_ he’d said. She could have one more hour to grieve, then life would go on.

“The dress is a lovely blue, my lady. It may even match your eyes, such a color.” 

She could do it, but not yet. Marian raised the blanket over her head. “One hour, please. Come back in an hour. I’ll get up then.”

The maid rustled about, muttering apologies. When Marian heard the door close, she curled into a ball in her warm blankets and let misery overtake her.

…

Marian allowed the maid free reign over her hair. As a result, it was a delicate pile of coils that the maid had fawned over her when she finished. 

Unsure of what to expect when she left her rooms, Marian held her head high and walked as much like a queen as she could muster. Winchester’s bonds had broken her skin, not her pride or honor. If her father could rise from ashes, then so could she.

“Marian.” She could hear his voice in her bones as well as her ears.

Her breath caught. She would rise.

Marian turned. The dark circles under his eyes did nothing to dull their intensity. She did not miss they way they drink her in, the pride that illuminates them when he sees that she wears his gift publicly. For a moment she though he might rush to her, but there were soldiers at his side, surrounding him. His soldiers. Loyal to _him_. They would be loyal to her, too, if… 

Nothing was going the way it was supposed to. 

Everything is a choice. 

_Everything is a choice._

Rather than excuse herself or wait for their dismissal, Marian smiled and walked to Guy. The soldiers made room for her, stepping aside and standing straighter. One fussed with his chain tunic, another scuffed at his boot. No less than three of them checked their belts, and Marian hid her grin against Guy’s shoulder as she slipped her arm under his.

…

Marian held still as Guy carefully applied fresh salve and began wrapping her wrists once more. The sun was out and lit bright slashes across his rooms where he’d kept the medicine chest. She sat at the table, rather than by the fire where he'd read to her. Marian was not quite prepared to think about that.

“They look better today,” she said.

He glanced up from his work. “They do. They’re clean, so they’ll heal fast.” Guy tucked the loose end and tossed the used bandage in the fire. He gently spread salve over her other wrist, his touch lighter than she would have imagined. 

“How fast?”

Guy paused, his fingertips against the inside of her wrist. “Your father is well enough. Wait another day or two and we’ll be able to use lighter bandages. Hide them with ribbons.” His jaw clenched and Marian recalled the chilly violence he was capable of. Capable, but in control of.

He’d killed for her, but only on her order. How far was she down this path? 

Marian remained quiet and let Guy finish wrapping her other wrist. When the second used bandage was fed to the flames, she spoke. “You saw my father last night?”

“Yes,” Guy leaned against the mantle and prodded the logs. “We spoke—at some length. Do not fear, he knows nothing of this.”

Marian watched the bandage flare as the salved melted into the flames. “Of what did you speak?”

Guy set the poker back in its stand and stared into the fire. “A great many things.” 

“Oh?”

He turned and began to pace, arranging his few decorations as he spoke. “We spoke of his coming death. Law and customs.” His voice grew hard. “Locksley.” Guy selected a wooden case from a shelf and brought it to the small table where Marian was seated and opened it. “We spoke of you.” His hand trembled as he removed a slim ivory piece. “Do you know this game?”

“My father plays,” Marian said as she watched Guy set out the pieces. “He tried to teach me but I preferred riding horses. Who taught you?”

Guy set the case aside and sat across from her. “My mother. My father gave her the set when she came to England.”

Marian hummed. It made sense; a complex game for a complex man. “Your mother must have been a very intelligent woman.”

“She was.”

With her attention on the board, Marian avoided Guy's intense scrutiny. The board had always captivated her—the contrasting patterns, tiny sculptures, and knowing who else played the game had meant more as a child than what was happening on the board.

Marian held up a game piece. A work of art, really. “Light and dark.”

Guy nodded. “Anything will do, really. Some play with dates and almonds,” he noted. “The winner takes the lot.”

The ivory piece Marian set down made a soft tap. “I understand Richard plays. Does John?”

“He plays games, but not this one,” Guy said cautiously. “He prefers more… immediate results.”

Marian could feel the earth shifting beneath her feet, unsure on her ground. “Are these games usually long?”

“That depends,” Guy looked up at her from under his lashes. “It depends on the players, and the stakes.”

Marian’s face felt warm. It was quite possible that they no longer spoke of the game. “Dates and almonds?” she said, tilting her head. 

Guy made the tiniest smile. “Very quick.”

Marian swallowed hard. “And for a kingdom?”

He was slow to answer. Without speaking, Guy rose and walked away from the board, away from the table, but his path carried him in an arc around the room. Marian kept her hands in her lap, but wrenched at her fingers, watching as Guy paced the room, clenching his fists behind his back. 

Had she gone too far? Was her question too close to treason? Men had been hanged for so little under the sheriff. Guy’s steps drifted behind her where they paused, only feet behind her chair. Whether it was from her early conditioning in poise, or her stubborn streak, Marian refused to turn in her chair.

A slight touch at her neck. “What sides, Marian? And do the players play for maneuver or capture?”

She cannot help it. She turned toward the touch, a streak of warmth in this cold, cold game. She’d stayed a free agent so long, carefully neutral, as inert as possible, only to cut off her options. By not appearing to take a side, Marian was herself both dangerous and in danger. Now she had one last decision to make. One move. Her breath came hard.

Another touch. “Marian?”

Regret has no shape but void. Void is nothing. Nothing is dangerous and Marian cannot allow it to ruin her home, her country, the land of her family and people. Nothing is chaos and is can only be defeated by order. Law brings order. 

Marian reached forward and plucked a game piece from the board. Her mouth was dry but she had no wine for courage. She formulated her words with care. Forethought befitting a lady, a noblewoman. 

“Can we not play on the same side?”

Guy goes still. His boots shuffle on the stone floor. The touch at her neck is soft and gentle. “Not in the game.”

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, when I get stuck, I employ a cheap metaphor. I've used spinning wheels, chess, car repair, legal documents, bench science... I'm a lazy h00r and I don't care. Stories need to be told by whatever means we are able to write them, amiright?
> 
> :)


	17. Litany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting urgent... and oddly Catholic?

Afternoon light illuminated the Nottingham castle chapel. Well-oiled woods gleamed with the memories of colors thrown by stained glass panels. Collections of precious stones set into sacred scenes cast reflections from their facets on the stone and panel walls, and gold inlay glimmered softly in glowing splendor. It was a wondrous, carefully curated place. 

It was always empty.

_Holy Mary, pray for us_

Guy did not care for the chapel. It was barren. Vaisey used the chapel as a way station for his collections, a strong room in plain sight except he’d barred anyone but his top men access to the place. So, to pray as his mother had taught—as he’d promised—Guy found the one uncontaminated image in the chapel.

Though his knees screamed and his feet long numb, he knelt by a small painting, modest compared to the rest of the chapel. The icon of the Mother and Child was unremarkable, with only a little gold leaf here and there in the halos to suit the purpose. All the more reason to show his thanks. 

_Holy Mother of God_

It was easy to worship the beautiful and ornate cups and statuettes of Christ. Easy to kneel in front of relics and imagine their power. It was something else to keep a promise—devotion for a granted request. His mother had offered her thanks and prayed for assistance daily, a habit that had fallen from Guy when he stopped seeing his days as blessings. Days were endured, and you did not thank anyone for the bruises but the one who gave them.

_Virgin most Venerable_

_Virgin most Renowned_

Guy was thankful. Marian had been spared. He’d taken to his knees once Winchester had her and in a moment of naked, bleeding hope, he’d sworn an hour a day for all those that remained for him should she be spared. His leather would be dented in witness. 

Spared…and she would be his wife. The parchment was stiff against his chest. Edward had signed and Marian had walked like a queen and tucked herself to his side. He’d been granted the first half of his request; would he be worthy of the second?

_Refuge of Sinners_

Guy resisted the urge to shift his weight. Wretched sinners deserved no comfort and he’d soon receive the greatest he could imagine—a future. A home. Marian was salvation in a life of depravity and darkness. If he could earn her tenderness…

_Cause of our Joy_

_House of Gold_

A ray of sunlight caught in the cracked gold leaf of the Virgin’s halo. Guy stared until his eyes watered, then let the overflow spill to the hard stone floor.

…

“Gisborne!”

With his legs still wobbling, Guy followed Vaisey’s echoing shout down the corridors. The sharp pain of his feet slowly faded to a dull ache as he approached Vaisey’s rooms. The guards had the doors open, waiting.

“Gisborne!”

“Yes, my lord?”

Vaisey settled his fists on his hips and grunted. “Where have you been? Need your opinion.” Vaisey tromped off towards his display of skulls, and Guy followed with a sigh. Were he not so dangerous, he’d be an aging fop.

“I need you to arrange a carriage and an escort,” Vaisey said as he held up a skull with a blue-jeweled tooth. “Winchester wasn’t exaggerating; there is a bit of an uprising in Sussex and we’re going to spread some gold to those that respond to that and take some from those that don’t. What do you think?” He held up the sapphire tooth.

“Maybe the emerald? How long will you be away?” 

Vaisey held up the second skull, considering, then held one on either side of his head and faced Guy, his jagged grin mocking the unfortunates he modeled on either side. “Not sure, depends on how much trouble we have. Well?”

“Do you expect trouble? I thought they were mostly loyal to the Prince.” Guy tried to consider the jeweled teeth on display and struggled. The stones were probably pried from relics in the chapel, set into stolen bones. “The ruby?”

“Ah, red! How regal!” Vaisey exclaimed. “They are. All members of the pact but they seem to be going on about common customs and other quaint nonsense. I’m going to recommend a full guard, and we’ll use the dungeon of the first trouble maker to lock up the rest.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’ve always wanted a summer home. Well,” he held up the ruby-toothed skull. “What do you think?”

Nearly two decades of service had made him numb to Vaisey’s madness, but this was new. “The ruby. How long will you be away?”

Vaisey turned and plucked the tooth from the skull and peered into a polished glass. “Planning some treason, Gisborne?” Vaisey jabbed the tooth into his jaw.

“No, my lord,” Guy hesitated. He must be careful. “My wedding.”

Vaisey turned and licked at the ruby-set tooth. He tossed the skull into the air and caught it like a toy. “Lady Marian?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Sir Edward?”

“He agreed.” 

Vaisey looked confused. “Then I don’t quite understand. You’ve been mooning over the baggage for a year.” Vaisey turned to inspect his wardrobe. “Call a priest and be done.”

Guy unlatched his leather jerkin and pulled out the marriage contract. “Because, I was hoping you would sign on my behalf. As my lord and my guardian.”

Vaisey looked back and narrowed his eyes. “You don’t need me to.”

“No, my lord. But I would value it.”

Guy knew there was little Vaisey loved more than having Guy at his mercy. Seeing him vulnerable. Giving Vaisey this piece of himself was the easiest yet. Whatever he bartered was cheap compared to what he would gain, so he unrolled the contract and held it out, careful to let Vaisey see the vacant space.

Casually, Vaisey strolled towards his desk. “I have always felt like a father to you, Gisborne,” he said as he dipped a quill into the inkpot. Guy quickly laid out the contract and held the corners. “So I’m going to offer you some advice.”

Guy remembered his father. The idea of Vaisey taking that place made his stomach churn. “Yes, my lord?”

"Be quick about it. I dislike weddings." Vaisey scrawled his mark across the parchment. It was larger, thicker-lined and more ornate that Edward’s. It took up far more space. It was ridiculous. He set the quill back on the desk, ignoring the splat of ink it left across the contract. “Incidentally, Gisborne, if I return and find Lady Marian is still unmarried, I’ll lock you in the dungeon and trade her off with more success than with Winchester. Which reminds me, make sure some guest rooms are ready when I return.”

Guy swallowed, but said nothing. 

“Now, I’m off to sort out Sussex with Prince John. I’ll leave in an hour, and I expect you to see me off. Shoo.”

Clutching the blotched catastrophe that was his marriage contract, Guy hurried out of the room. Marian would be safe. 

His boots were lighter on the stones as Guy quickly passed the guards, turning towards Marian’s rooms with as much dignity as his gear would allow.

_Gate of Heaven_

_Queen of Peace_

Pray for us.

…

The monk stopped Guy before he could reach Marian’s rooms. “My lord, Sir Edward. His breathing is more… labored.”

“Labored? Labored how?”

The monk tucked his hands into his sleeves and bowed his head. “There is a rattle, my lord. Where is Lady Marian?” He lowered his voice. “It is a matter of days, I think.”

Guy glanced over the monk’s tonsure. He could see Marian’s room. God, he knew they would have to hurry, but now… “She has been ill, brother. She stayed away to protect Sir Edward’s health.”

“Little need for that now. She should be with him and,” the monk carefully drew up his hood. “I suggest allowing no other visitors. He has been… talking.”

The grim set of the monk’s face was deepened in his hood’s shadow. 

Guy nodded his understanding. “I will prepare Lady Marian and take her today.” He drew a few coins from his purse. “An offering, brother. Will you return tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“I will have another offering then.” 

The monk bowed. “I will spend my days in _silent_ prayer for you all, my lord.”

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Veneration of Mary was really getting kicked off in the 12th century, and some of the most devout were the Norman French. The first known written records of prayers specifically to Mary date back to the 1400s and they were kinda old then. Many clearly borrow from fairly mystic pagan sources, but are pretty lovely all the same. (I am deeply guilty of using prayers/scripture inappropriately on a regular basis.)


	18. The Hero We Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plots converge. Marian has a very long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chap. I felt like there was a lot to cover, and I didn't want to break it up. Also, this chapter feels like a particularly dramatic Broadway musical.

Marian tucked the linen wrap around her wrist and sat back in relief. Her maids had fretted too much to be helpful, so after they dressed her hair with pretty yellow ribbons, Marian asked them to leave while she redressed her raw skin herself. 

If she was honest, Marian preferred when Guy tended her, but… 

She sighed, and began clearing away the ointments and bandages. It was complicated, and growing more so by the day. It was only a matter of how they would proceed. Marian could not imagine suddenly becoming a reserved noble lady, no matter how hard her father had tried to make her one. She would always be headstrong, and no veil or parchment was going to change that.

Her father had made certain rules, but knew she would break them. It was one thing to act the part in public, but if Guy expected a sweet, mousy thing behind closed doors, she would give him merry hell instead. She’d done the same to her father, after all. 

Was it so bad that Marian wanted more, to be more, than a bauble in her husband’s house? As a child she read the stories of dragons and rescued maids, of clever heroes outsmarting the wicked, and kindly families who earned their way to honor. She’d played with sticks that became swords in her hand, and her ponies were great destriers.

But not anymore. 

Her poor father. Sir Edward had been so pale, yet so fierce the last time she saw him. She could feel the swirl of so many secrets, but there had been no time to talk. No space to talk with Robin there. Marian plucked at her bandages and hoped he would be stronger when she saw him next. 

Heavy footsteps in the hall made Marian look up. There was hardly a knock when the door swung wide and Guy came crashing in, followed by red-faced chamber maids.

“My lady, we tried to stop him!”

Marian waved a hand. “It’s fine,” she said, then raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure Sir Guy would not come barging into my rooms without good reason.” Marian took note of the set of Guy’s mouth, and the hard line of his brow. “Is that not so, Sir Guy?”

“You must come with me, Marian. Now.” He reached for her hand, clearly intending to drag her with him and brook no argument.

“I must?” Marian bristled. A dozen sharp words began to assemble on her tongue, preparing to fly.

“Now.” Guy said flatly. At Marian’s glare, he took her gently by the elbow to the corner of the room, facing away from the door. Away from the maid’s ears. “It’s Sir Edward.” Guy paused. “He cannot wait.”

“My wrists,” Marian whispered.

“He cannot wait,” Guy repeated. And then, that look… the soft, sad look. The one he made, for a brief moment, whenever she had to go. When she walked away from him. When she was hurting and he tended her. 

“Marian, _please_.” 

Oh, no.

Marian heard the desperate catch in Guy’s voice. It was unthinkable that Sir Guy of Gisborne could be rattled by anything besides a missing pile of gold, but here he was, begging her quietly.

It could only mean one thing. Marian swallowed hard over the bitterness in her mouth. 

The maids watched as Marian took Sir Guy’s arm and left. 

…

Entertaining an aging parent was one thing. As they weaken, though… Over weeks and months, brightening their days, tending them, seeing to their needs, becomes a vocation. At times, one so encompassing that you could easily forget that it would not last. It could not go on forever.

Marian fought to breathe. He had only just set her on her own horse and taught her to ride. Been the sheriff. Called out orders to his estate manager at Knighton to build new pens for hogs. Gave the stable boy a new fishing pole. Toasted her with Robin at their engagement, eyes dancing with joy.

“The attending brother came to me earlier. I did not want to upset you, so I saw him just minutes ago.”

“And?” If she pushed her fist into her chest, maybe her heart would not burst. 

Guy paused at a door and their escort fell back, melting into the gray of the long hallway. “You should prepare. He is not… himself.”

Marian could not say how they got to her father’s rooms, for her mind was a pit of strange feelings that hissed and fought for her attention. Guy reached for the door handle and turned. “We have ten minutes before we must see the sheriff off. I will make sure you can come back immediately.”

Confusion and anger won. “Then why even bring me now?” she snapped.

Guy winced and set his jaw. “Because I will keep nothing from you.” He pulled the handle and the door creaked open, the heavy old hinge scraping metal across metal, straining the wood. “Wait,” he murmured, and stepped close, crowding her. 

Marian was about to recoil, startled, when Guy delicately unwound a ribbon from her hair and loosened it. One hand barely brushed his thigh and a knife blade glinted as he deftly sliced the ribbon in half, then wrapped a length around each linen bandage. 

The bright, sunny yellow ribbon made a pretty contrast with her blue dress. It was so wrong, these joyful colors while…

Marian walked into the warm room. The desk was a riot of unkempt work-- mad flurries of energy had stirred the scrolls and sheets into a whirlwind only to deposit them suddenly, unfinished. A tray of untouched porridge. A sweet smelling tisane. Her eyes touched everything but the bed.

“Kate? Kate my dear, I’ve wondered when you would return.”

Marian looked to Guy in shock. Her father was sallow, shrunken. Diminished.

Guy leaned over. “I’m sorry.” He pulled his gloves away and rested a warm hand on her back, encouraging.

She stepped forward, unsure of what to say. “I’m here, Edward.” Her lips tripped over his name. She had not used it without ‘Sir’ first. And never to his face. He was always her Papa.

“Sweet Kate, I’ve been so foolish. Such a fool. Devoted to work and not you.” Sir Edward stretched out his fingers. “Busy being sheriff and pretending to play politics.”

Marian sniffed. “You are a good man, Edward.”

He frowned. “I could have done better. Then. Maybe if I was better then, I would not have had to… not have had to do it now.” He sighed, a deep breath rattling like the crackling of splinters. “But I have. I will not even need the rest. My letters.” He looked around the room. “Sir Guy, where are my letters?”

Guy stepped closer to the bed. “Shall I have them brought to you, Sir Edward?”

“Please, Sir Guy. It went so well, I will not need the rest, I imagine, so I should like my Marian to have them. But please, you must keep them from Robin. He would not understand. He loves Richard too much.” 

Edward seemed to fall asleep for a moment. Marian had only enough time to draw breath before his eyes opened again.

“Marian, dear, have you seen Father Mayson at the Knighton chapel yet? You really must have a fall wedding.” Marian felt her mouth fall open. “It’s so much easier to arrange a feast near harvest time when the pigs are nice and fat. What say you, Guy?”

At her side, she felt Guy stiffen. “I always wished to be married in summer, my lord. When the fruit is sweet and the fields are still green.”

But Edward was already leaning back more, sinking into his pillows with a smile. “Ah, a romantic. I should have known…” His breathing grew more labored, and between the gasps Marian made out unconnected words.

_Customs. Law. Liberty._

“Papa?” she whispered.

“Come, Marian. The sheriff.”

_Safe. Keep her safe._

“Papa,” Marian protested weakly. She strained to hear her father’s mumblings. 

Guy laid a hand on her shoulder. Weight. Gravity. Obligations of today and tomorrow. 

“Marian.”

Numb, Marian took Guy’s arm and walked, hardly noticing the press of her steps. The door closed behind her, blocking her view and the sound of her father’s wheezing. Her heart felt caught in a vise; how could it be that she wished to stay and run all at once? 

Guy called to one of their guards. “Fetch the attending brother. I do not want Sir Edward left with anyone else under any circumstances, go!” His tone left no room for misunderstanding, and the man rushed off. 

Feeling the insistent tug, Marian set her feet in motion and tried to understand what she’d seen, heard. Something more was at stake, more than her Papa had indicated.

Letters.

Her father and Robin had spoken of letters.

_His truth may not be yours._

Ahead, the sound of horses and their grooms echoed through the halls. Marian limply followed Guy’s lead into a small alcove off the main hallway. He took her by both shoulders, 

“Vaisey will be gone for a few weeks. There is some disorder amongst the barons in Sussex and he and Prince John are journeying there today.” Guy paused. 

Marian glanced up and saw that he would not meet her eyes. 

“He has other… expectations,” Guy said roughly as they passed through the last archway.

The sun was bright and heat radiated from the stones bordering the main entry of the castle. On any other day, Marian would have frowned and stood stiffly as she was paraded and displayed in the courtyard. Today she felt as if she would melt, struck dumb by the sun, her day a series of jarring contrasts.

A marionette, dancing on her strings.

Horses pranced, jostling their carts as they were loaded with fine trunks and cases. Grooms hurried to calm the beasts as the last of the cargo was loaded.

Vaisey swept into the courtyard, followed by a half dozen guards and porters. He immediately saw Marian and grinned.

“Ah, excellent, you both managed to crawl out from under wherever you’ve been hiding.” 

Guy inclined his head. “My lord. Are you prepared for your ride?”

“No thanks to you. I had to order my horse myself, took me nearly a quarter of an hour to find the bloody pageboy.” As Vaisey turned his attention to her, Marian felt her empty stomach heave. 

“Dearest girl, you’re so pale today. Sick with green, I imagine. Ah, well, we’ll see to that soon enough. Well, you’re pretty enough with the ribbons...” Vaisey glanced at Marian’s wrists and raised his eyebrows. “Good show, Gisborne. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Marian looked away in horror. Guy tightened his grip on her arm.

“My lord, has there been word on Sussex?”

Vaisey examined his fingernails. “Nothing much new. Some nonsense about law and customs. Nothing specific. John intends to demand loyalty oaths. We’ll reward the first ones to swear and bleed the holdouts dry. By blood or gold remains to be seen. Oh dear,” Vaisey cooed. “I may have upset your lady. Apologies.” He made a mocking bow before taking offering his horse a carrot. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, one does not keep the monarch waiting!” 

Marian clung to Guy’s arm as Vaisey mounted his horse from the steps and spun. “Remember, Gisborne, by the time I return or I’ll have three more ready. Ta!” He spurred his horse lightly and trotted from the courtyard, his carts rumbling slowly behind.

Despite the heat, Marian trembled. Furious. Sick. Guy hurried her away back to the cool shade of the archways. Marian took deep breaths, struggling to keep her feet. 

“I’m sorry,” Guy said simply.

Marian leaned back into the wall. “So this is to be my life,” she bitterly laughed. “Called to public mockery at his whim?”

“I can protect you--”

Tired of sentiment, Marian held up a hand to silence him. Whatever words he’d meant to say became fuel for his pacing. “A blade is nothing against wind, Guy. One day it will not be words. What then? If things do not change, if Vaisey does not allow us to leave, I shall wither.”

Guy stopped, his eyes darting across her face, then into the distance. Then he shook his head as if to clear it and extended his hand. “Later, first we must see your father.”

When they arrived at Sir Edward’s rooms once more, the brother was there, crushing herbs. He looked up and wiped his brow as Guy pushed the door open.

“Sir Gisborne, it is good you called me back. Ah, Lady Marian,” the brother nodded to her. 

Marian bowed and accepted his blessing. “I’m sorry I’ve not had a chance to thank you for your care of my father in… in my absence.” Her gaze fell upon the desk, now covered with nothing but fresh parchment and a new quill and ink. When she turned back, her neck felt hot. “Where is my father’s work?” 

The friar reached under his habit and withdrew a stack of rolled letters. “I thought it best not to leave them out. He speaks of them sometimes.” As Marian reached to take them, he spoke very softly to her. “I have given your father his absolution, the contents of which will die with me.”

The stack was heavy in her hands, but she held them tightly. “How is he?”

“Resting. Now that you are here, I will go and gather a tray.” He turned to leave, tucking his hands into his sleeves.

“Has he been hungry?” Marian asked.

The brother paused, and smiled gently. “No, my lady. It is for when he wakes.”

…

Marian watched her father breathe, muttering words here and there in the same way as when she left with Guy to see the sheriff off. It was hard to watch sleep that gave no peace. Exhausting to hear the hard intakes, followed by a labored release and not a restful sigh. Over and over again.

It was Guy who pulled her from the chair by Sir Edward’s bed. He held out his hands. “May I?”

She stepped closer and realized what he was offering. “He wished me to read these,” she said, looking down at the stack of letters. 

“Then you should do it now. You may not wish to later.”

Guy helped Marian to a chair across the room from the bed, then gave her as much privacy as the chambers allowed. She could still see the whole room, but the sound of rattling breath was mixed with the snapping fire, and by the afternoon light she read the first letter.

And the second.

The third.

Her hands shook. Could it be? Marian wondered at the wildness of it all. Was it possible to do, say such things? Were it not for some clever wording and a few choice oaths and pledges, the neck of anyone who read it could earn a rope. It was not a full plan, far from it, but more a series of ideals. Values. The words alone were but little, but the ideas. These ideas, in the hands and minds of powerful men… men with influence, stiff morals, but flexible loyalties…

Such men existed. But not in Nottingham. Or did they?

Marian swallowed. She could yet effect change. She could yet save the people. But she could not do it alone. Change happened from the inside, and there was no more inside than this. Whatever history would say of her, of this night and those to come, her decision would not be forgotten. 

“Guy, I think you should read this.”

…

After the initial shock at the contents of the letters, Guy began to pace the room, eyes roving in thought. He stopped every so often, like a man walking a hedge maze who has made a wrong turn and must now retrace his steps.

“These letters must be sent,” he finally said. “Vaisey’s trip to Sussex with John is to silence the rumbles caused by the first letters. These,” he ran a hand through his hair, leaving behind a tangle of black. “There is clear enough logic to organize more barons, more senior peers. It ends the rally for Richard and makes John’s path clear, conditionally.”

Marian nodded grimly. “How do we get them to Sussex? You cannot leave, Vaisey would know.”

Guy rested his elbows on his knees. “And any messenger must travel fast. Know the roads. The forests.”

“Guy,” Marian began to protest. “You cannot mean it.”

Guy sat up and continued. “And this cause needs a great ally. Someone that was for Richard. Someone his most loyal noblemen, and the common folk, would follow.”

“He won’t do it.”

“He will if _you_ ask him to.”

Marian looked toward the bed. For the past hour, she’d tried very hard not to think of why she was in the room. Tried to forget she was holding vigil at her father’s deathbed.

_His truth may not be yours. Take care._

“He’ll hate this. He’ll hate me.”

Guy laughed grimly, lowering his head into his hands. “No, he hates me.”

She took a deep breath. “I told Robin I would marry him when Richard returned.”

Quiet. Marian glanced and saw that Guy had not moved. “I know,” he said softly. “Your father told me.”

She could not breathe. She could not breathe, so she stood swiftly, nearly upending the chair. “Then why are we here?” she rasped.

Guy raised his dark head, hair prodding out in all directions. He looked ragged, careworn. “You did what you had to do. Do you think I don’t know what that’s like? It’s politics.” He stood, and walked slowly to her, and laid out his hand. “But Marian, if there is one thing I might ask -one thing I may beg of you-” he paused, his hand bright-edged in the firelight, held out to her.

Hesitating, trembling, Marian lightly set her hand in his, ready to spring away. He did not grasp to stop her. “What would you ask of me?”

He drew a shaky breath. “That there be no politics between us. Not when we are alone. None of it matters when we are alone.” 

She allowed her hand to rest over his, and fought the weight of her question. It had suddenly grown unbearably heavy. “Why do you wish to marry me?” she whispered.

His fingers twitched beneath hers. His chest heaved, for a moment looking for all the world to have ridden at full sprint for a day. There was no swagger, no arrogant Gisborne. Marian watched a wave of vulnerability wash over him as he struggled, choosing his words from jumbles.

“I fear I am damned.”

“What?” She snatched her hand from his and retreated, circling away.

He followed. “Just days ago, I prayed for the first time in as long as I can remember. I made only one request. I had no reason to hope, but I did.” In a strange dance, they rounded the room a pace from each other. “I was granted my request, and I swore that I would devote myself to that one thing if I might evade hell.”

Though her eyes burned, Marian could scarcely blink. “And what was your request?”

“To save you from Winchester and have you as my wife.” Guy sagged and gripped the back of a chair. “In return, if I could earn your affections, your trust, I might save my soul.”

Marian ground her teeth until her jaw protested. “If you seek absolution, I’m certain the friar will return soon.”

“No, Marian. But if you could find me worthy of kindness, perhaps I am not beyond hope.”

They both fell silent, the fire and Sir Edward’s breaths now deafeningly loud off the stone walls. Marian’s mind raced, and she found her eyes flitting from one place to another, setting things in her mind here and there only to rearrange them. There were so many factors, so many things to consider, but she could not help coming back to the same place.

The door latch rattled and Marian jumped, pulling her from her thoughts. The door opened and Guy quickly ran to it. The brother had returned with his tray. This time there were poppies. Marian drew a sharp breath. There were piles of them, and the friar began the task of grinding and mixing. 

Guy stood at her side and caught her as her knees weakened. “Shh,” he soothed. “It’s only to ease the way, not force him there.”

Marian gripped Guy’s solid arm and leaned into him. Perhaps there should be no politics between them, but that did not mean they could not have their reasons, she thought as she wiped her tears from the black leather.

Cautiously, Guy leaned down and kissed her forehead, then her cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Marian looked up. She’d never seen him look this way. She’d seen him unsure, sad and lonely even, but never gutted and illuminated at the same time. As her tears dropped in thick streams, she whispered to him. “We’ll send the letters. But not under my father’s name.”

“Whose then?”

Marian squared her shoulders. “The letters will be signed Robin of Locksley, Earl of Huntington." She set her jaw and thought of her stories, and glanced at her father. "They will be signed Robin Hood.” She turned from Guy’s surprise to the friar who mashed at a milky paste. “Do you know Father Mayson at Knighton?”

The brother focused on his work. “Yes, my lady. Will he arrange services?”

A jolt went through Marian. She bit back a small sob as she set sealing wax to warm and inked the quill. “Yes. And I would like you to arrange a delivery to him. Before the bells toll for my father.”

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have edited and posted this at work. :)


	19. Black and White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's always been a very righteous morally gray man in black.

Guy alternated in his vigils, first hovering over Sir Edward and the monk, then pacing the floor, and then settling near Marian as she scratched careful lettering across pages, pausing only to refer to a scrap from time to time as she inked the quill. 

The letters. They were so… much. Edward’s writing had leapt from the pages- ideas that might change not just England but all of Europe. Perhaps beyond. A few shaking strokes of ink would herald a new era of the world. 

But it meant change. And change was risky. Guy had not clawed for so long to stretch his neck now, not when everything he’d ever wanted, dreamed, bled for, was so close to finally being his. To alter how power was granted, and the overseeing of that authority, was a direct strike at Vaisey, or would be seen as such. 

God help him if Vaisey ever found out. God help Marian.

Guy was restless again, feeling useless in a stifling room full of action. Relief came only once when Marian needed more ink.

She may take the greatest risk of all. How could he protect her, shield her, from all this if it went wrong? Her writing was on the pages now. Edward had nothing to lose but Marian… _Marian._

Sir Edward murmured, and Guy hurried over. Edward had grown restless and the monk was prepared to administer a draught of dilute poppy milk to him, but refrained as Guy raised his hand. “Listen, and commit his words to memory. Marian will want to know.” The monk set aside the poppy milk and gently cleaned Edward’s face, who continued to speak softly.

_My Kate. Sweet Marian._

_Liberty._

Guy could barely imagine liberty. Being able to make his own destiny.

Not long ago, during Edward’s last awakening, he’d asked about the wedding. Not just if, but when. Guy had hardly known what to say, but he knew that he wished to marry in summer, while there were still flowers carpeting the ground and fruit to fill cakes and to sweeten the corners of a kiss.

Marian’s kiss, freely given, with the warm sun in her hair and a proud smile on her face. Guy swallowed hard and paced away. 

Edward was right. He was a romantic. 

.

After an hour, with the afternoon sun just taking on a shade of orange, Marian stood and began hurriedly preparing the letters. “I did my best to copy his hand, though one or two may suspect it,” she said as she began to dribble wax over the fold.

Guy handed her the seal she’d hastily carved from memory. “If I’m not wrong, the only people who would know it are in the forest with him.”

She made no reply but raised an eyebrow before turning to the monk. “If you are ready, these can go to Father Mayson… at Knighton.” Her voice softened when she saw that the monk, far from simply watching and praying, was busily changing sheets, mopping Sir Edward’s brow, and listening carefully when words trickled from Sir Edward’s lips.

Marian had barely pulled the seal free from the wax when she dropped it. “Papa?” She swayed in her seat, watching as the monk dabbed her father’s lips with a cloth to wet them. Edward’s arm swung wide, slapping against the monks side. He skillfully avoided it the next time.

With fear in her eyes, Marian blindly folded the next letter and set another bit of wax to melt. Then the letter slipped from her hands and fluttered to the floor.

Between the chaos and stillness, Guy stood and watched. He recognized the knowledge and skill on display; this brother was no idle statue. The man was a healer and watchman, and Guy himself would be a poor replacement no matter how much he wished to comfort Marian. 

She sealed another letter.

“He can’t go,” Guy said.

“I’ll manage. He knows Father Mayson.” Marian folded the last letters and filled the burner with wax. “Mayson will deliver the letters to Robin for us.”

Stubborn woman. Stubborn, _beloved_ woman.

Guy took a deep breath. “Send me. I am no use to you here.” 

A change in plans now, when she had thought her plan so clear, so reliable, in the midst of so much madness, was a further shock to her. So much was out of her control, and Guy felt a pang of familiar sympathy. Little of his own life had been his choice, punctuated by tragedy and raised only by timely grasping. He recognized why the tears sprang to her eyes so suddenly. 

“The friar would need a pass to enter after dark, and Vaisey would know. No one will suspect my leaving the castle to visit my properties,” he explained. Marian glared at that, but Guy continued. “No one will question my comings and goings. I beg you, give me this errand, I am no use to you here.”

“Father Mayson will not trust you.”

“No,” Guy conceded. “But he will trust you.”

Marian paled. “I cannot possibly leave!”

Guy pulled a sheet of parchment free and tore it in half. “Write. Write whatever you wish. Seal it. I will deliver the lot and do as he says,” Guy paused, and fixed his gaze on Marian. “I will do as _you_ instruct.”

Tears splattered the parchment and were swallowed. She sat and stared at the page until Guy set a quill into her hand and left her be until the sky reddened further and she sealed it shakily with Edward’s crest.

The sound of rattling breaths grew louder.

…

Her kiss on his cheek burned as Guy rode hard into the cooling evening. Guy had not seen her jaw set so firmly as when she gave him the case of letters and entrusted him with it.

He could throw the lot into a nearby stream and let its current grant John and Vaisey the complete power they slavered after. Such power would grant him any number of positions. He would only need wait an hour, return to Marian, and report his errand complete. 

Except she would find out. And she would hate him. He himself had begged her for honesty between them.

He had begged The Virgin for her.

The horse surged under his heels.

…

Filthy, tired, and hungry, Guy waited as Father Mayson broke the seal on Marian’s letter. The man had glared at Guy when he first arrived, shouting for him to come and meet at the church. Now the man’s forehead wrinkled in surprise, his eyes tracking over the page twice more before rolling the page carefully.

“You say that Sir Edward is dying?”

“Yes, Father. He will not be long. If Marian requests any---”

Father Mayson held up a hand. “Leave that to me. You are to return immediately after the delivery. Come.” Mayson crooked a finger and Guy followed. 

As they passed a brazier, the priest set Marian’s letter into the flames, shoving it down with a stick so it blackened quickly. When they reached a door, the priest pushed his large sleeves back and reached for the case of letters. For a moment, Guy was reluctant to let it go. A tiny fear pressed at him that, if Marian so wished, she might have cut him from her life if she used her father’s hand and rejected his suit to the priest. A cold trickle seeped under his collar.

Father Mayson stilled and clasped a hand over Guy’s arm. “If Edward is as near to the Lord as you say, she is going to need you. Please, do not leave her in her hour of need, and assure her that I am following her instructions.”

Guy swallowed thickly and released the case, then ran to his horse and rode as hard as the darkening sky allowed, hoping beyond hope that his next prayers were heard.

…

It was growing late as Guy returned to the room. He did not stop to wash, nor to do more than clean his hands and face before returning.

“Guy!” Marian yelped as he pushed the door open. She leapt up and ran to him, tugging him near the desk. “Did you find Father Mayson?” she asked softly.

“Yes. He would follow your instructions.”

She watched him. “Anything else?”

“To hurry back. How is Edward?” Guy glanced at the bed and saw that the man had been propped up.

“He woke briefly. And he… talked. A little.” The sad droop was heartbreaking. 

“I wish I had been here.”

Marian lifted her head. Her eyes were swollen and strained, and her ink-stained hands had left traces on her chin. Guy smoothed a hank of wild hair from her face, knowing that he himself was worse off than she. 

She must have realized the state they were in, for she started to fuss.

“No, no,” he soothed, and took her hands in his lightly. “You have never been more beautiful.”

_Queen of heaven._

In a move he did not expect, Marian ducked her head and wrapped her arms around him. She was as strong as any man and braver than most. Bravery took wildness and Guy never wanted that to change. He stroked her back lightly, feeling her wobble and lean into him.

That wildness made her rash, true, but it also led her to care fiercely for her father. Guy recalled how heavily her father would lean on her as they walked.

He brushed her hair away from her ear. “I would ease your burdens, my Marian. Please allow me that.”

Her trembling eased, and it was not long before her limbs grew soft in his arms. Guy swept her up and kicked at the door.

“My lord?” said the guard, mouth dribbling crumbs.

“A cot and food. Now.”

Once the cot was set out, Guy gently laid Marian in it and sat in a chair next to her, as close as he could. He did not wake when the food was delivered.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking forward to finishing this story... I have SO many ideas these days!


	20. Intersections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian's delicate chains of events link together.

Marian jerked awake and squinted, clutching at her pounding head. Sleep could not refresh her, not now. Perhaps never again. 

Time had ceased to have meaning in the sickroom. Had it been hours or days? It might have been weeks, for the weariness she felt in her heart. Rest was a moment of weakness surrounded by crushing, frustrating helplessness. As Marian sat up her vision cleared enough to make out a tray near her. Thirst struck her so suddenly that she lunged forward, falling to her knees, and snatched a pitcher from the tray, not caring what was in it. When she found that it was water, she drank until she was out of breath. Panting, she sat on the floor with her legs tucked to one side and looked around the dim room.

She remembered little beyond collapsing into a chair, but she’d fallen not from a chair, but from a cot. Marian pressed at her forehead and leaned back, wishing the ache and disorientation would subside. 

At her back was most certainly not the cot she’d fallen out of. 

Guy was slumped in the chair beside her, one leg splayed out and the other bent, his knee just behind her. He was filthy, covered in mud splatters and dust that had settled into his hair and formed little blotches where it had stuck to his sweat and dried.

So he had gone, and was back. Wincing, Marian rose to her feet and saw that the monk was sitting quietly by her father. Though he might have been sleeping, he opened his eyes as she approached.

“How is my father?”

“He is sleeping, my lady. That is good.”

Marian nodded. “Did he say anything?” She did not want to ask, but needed to know. 

“He asked for you once. I told him you were resting and he said not to wake you, then he fell asleep.”

As the fog in her mind lifted she could feel that time had passed, and her stomach churned as she imagined what events must have occured while she’d slept. Events at the castle, at Knighton, and in the wood would soon determine her future. Every future.

“How long was Sir Guy gone, and how long ago did he return?” 

The monk stood and looked out the window. “He left three hours ago, and returned no more than an hour ago. He ordered the tray and has not awoken since.”

Marian folded her hands and forced herself into stillness that sat at odds with her mind. She would know within the hour. 

…

The room was a trap, stuffy and overwarm, and Marian flung the covering from the window for relief. Under the moonlight, she took deep gulps of cool night air, hating the desperation that ran through her.

It was a waiting game. If the sun rose uneventfully, she would know. The actual events may change little, but her future would be little different from her past: a polite and cautious life of never ending dances with politics and chaos. She would be safe, but fixed in position and have little recourse. 

She looked at Guy, slumped and uncomfortable in a chair made for smaller men. Everything was made for smaller men, men who made rules and enforced them at will, thinking only of themselves. For a long time, he had been one of them. What had changed?

It’s a frightening burden to be someone else’s reasons. Guy had taken risks, made decisions, even killed for her. 

Vaisey may have ordered Winchester disposed of, but there was a particular vengeance in Guy’s face at that moment. Perhaps he did kill for Vaisey, but he twisted the knife for her and then bandaged her wrists. He was gentle for her. 

Had they not met, would Guy have been comfortable in that chair? Would he have continued to be a smaller man? 

Had he grown shorter since his trip to Knighton?

Marian repressed the mad urge to laugh and left the window to sit by her father.

“Papa,” she whispered. “Papa, did I do right?” Marian knew she may have tested Guy too much-- the sheriff’s hold on him may have been too strong, or the possible future not clear or promising enough. He was a principled man who had been twisted by fear and capricious rewards. Large enough to be worth his efforts, and inconsistent enough to keep him close.

Guy was not a fool, but his past was proof of what he was willing to do to achieve his goals. The question was whether he was willing to compromise her dreams in order to achieve his own. 

“I suppose I shall know soon enough,” Marian whispered to the night.

…

A sharp rap on the door had Guy bolting from his chair before Marian could rise. As he unlatched the door, Marian could hear her blood rushing in loud pulses in her ears. Low murmurs, muffled voices from the other side of door carried to where Marian sat, but she could not make out the words.

Guy stiffened suddenly and backed away from the door as it swung open wide. He turned towards her and Marian stood, deafened by her own heartbeat.

“Marian?” 

She could almost smile at his confusion. Almost, and perhaps someday, but not today. “Is it Father Mayson?” she asked from her father’s bedside.

“Well, yes,” Guy said, frowning. “But why?”

The priest was allowed in and hurried over to join Marian at her father’s side. He bent low to utter a blessing, then spoke softly to Marian.  
“He may seem beyond this world, but the dying are closer to God, and know more than we imagine. I am prepared, if you still wish to proceed?”

Marian swallowed. “Was the delivery successful?”

“I placed the box in Robin’s hands myself.”

There. It was done, and instead of a feeling of accomplishment, Marian began to tremble. Her insides shook, for there was no taking back what she had done, and only one path forward.

Father Mayson stepped away and Marian could hear him opening a satchel. When Guy appeared at her side, he offered his hand and helped her to her feet.

“Edward, is he--”

That he could not speak the words was strangely comforting. “No, not yet. But we must be quick if we are to satisfy his last request.” 

For a moment, Guy’s mouth worked as if to form words. He looked from Father Mayson to Marian, to Edward, and back round again, his eyes finally opening wide in comprehension. “The note,” he began.

“Later,” said Father Mayson. “I’ll keep news of this quiet for a day or two at most, but after that you’ll have to have a public announcement.”

Marian nodded. “Robin should be far enough by then that the news will not reach him before he delivers the letters. The letters will be in the hands of the lords in Sussex before Prince John and Vaysey reach them, so they will act in unison.”

Guy blinked. “And news of our marriage will reach them before they return.” A shudder wracked his shoulders. “If I had not followed your instructions…”

“But you did,” Marian interrupted. She patted her father's hand, took Guy's arm, and turned to face the priest. “Are we ready, Father Mayson?”

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short, but when I tried to add more it lost the flow. Perhaps 2 more chapters, I think? And then an excerpt... because sometimes a T just isn't enough...


	21. Founders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've walked over the coals. The next two decades of English history have been sparked, now Marian and Guy have other concerns.
> 
> omg complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I returned to the more vignette storytelling method.

Guy was sure that Marian had grown up imagining this day very differently. She would have risen to a day of nervous indulgences, pretty gowns, a festival field filled with music and maypoles, wreaths of flowers, laughter, and a grand feast.

A different husband.

Their wedding feast had consisted of a ladleful of the nightwatch stew and an overly generous toast to the life of Sir Edward Fitzwilliam. The only flowers were the poppies to ease him, and her wedding gown was foul and stained. He was even worse.

It was approaching dawn when Edward finally passed. Marian had slipped to her knees and kissed her father’s hand, her tears falling in silence and wetting the linens.

Events afterwards occured in a hazy blur. Father Mayson left to arrange the funeral and file their contract, and the brother, faithful to the last hour, had to be carried away to sleep in a nearby chamber. When the holy sisters came for Edward, Marian swayed on her feet, miserable and exhausted, .

Thinking was like wading through muck, but Guy managed to recall the only fact that remained. 

Marian was his wife. She was his wife and he was her husband and that meant he would care for her.

He would have tended her regardless, but now he could do so without the concerns over how it might look. Damn them all anyway. Damn them all because his Marian was hurting and he was going to help. 

Guy approached his wife slowly, and stood behind her. “Marian.” 

Her head tilted, as though she heard him from a great distance. Her eyes were locked on her father as the sisters began to strip her father’s nightclothes.

“Marian, we should leave.” 

She tore her eyes away and looked up at him. “I can’t leave him alone.”

“He’s not alone. They will tend him now. You did your work.”

“I can help,” she said, her voice rising.

Guy slid his hands up her arms and turned her. Turned her away from the sight of her father’s graying skin. “Your work is done. Let others do theirs.” He raised her hands in his. “Let me take care of you, Marian. Please.”

With a deep sigh, the iron in her posture dissolved and she slumped, her head bumping into his chest. Guy bent and lifted her in his arms and kicked at the door.

“Tell Lady Marian’s maid to have a bath and clean clothes ready for… for my wife.”

Guy tripped over the words in his mouth, liking their taste and feel.

The guard hurried away and Guy carried Marian down the hall. He had to turn around, for he originally walked toward her rooms. Her things would be moved later, but not now. 

Marian was already drifting to sleep by the time he reached her door. Guy set her in a chair and held her hand until the maid, sleepy and yawning, shepherded Marian away. When they returned, the sun was rising. Dawn scattered through morning mist.

In her chemise, she squinted against the sunlight in the room. Guy yanked coverings over the window and dismissed the maid, then guided Marian to his… _their_ bed. 

It was not what he’d ever imagined for his wedding night, or morning for that matter. He’d had such plans, grand gestures and as luxurious gifts as he could provide. Details had shifted in the variations Guy had entertained these last few years: thoughts of winter weddings, full of roasts and chilly rooms that required close quarters for comfort; heaps of spring flowers to grace his bride’s path; summer wines that loosened tongues and the ties of gowns…

In these scenes, for all their variety and appeal, one thing was always the same. Marian. Marian was always his bride. Since his arrival in Nottingham the half-formed face of his someday wife had taken her sweet shape. She was not always happy in his fantasies, but that was his mission now, wasn’t it?

When Guy returned from a desperately needed and overdue bath, Marian was dead to the world despite the bright hour. If the incoherent mud he’d been trying to think through was any indication, then he was as bad off as she. Guy called for the cot to be brought to his chambers. 

Marian was bereaved, and he’d not insult her grief. Guy collapsed into the too-short cot and hardly knew another thought. 

…

Wakefulness came to Marian in a sticky sludge. She did not want to open her eyes, for being aware would make it all real, and she wished to cling to the sludge as long as she could. 

She squeezed her still-closed eyes more tightly shut. Her father had died slowly, and she’d watched the entire time; seen it all. Thank god Guy had been there…

Her eyes flew open and she sat up, disoriented, blinking at unfamiliar surroundings. 

Ah, so that was real, too. And yet, she was alone in the bed. 

A sleepy grunt came from across the room and Marian rose, taking a soft blanket with her as her shawl was nowhere to be seen. Guy looked as uncomfortable as a man could possibly be and still be asleep. She sat in a nearby chair and considered him. 

She’d tested his loyalties. It might have been a terrible thing to do, but it was a risk she’d taken so she could know, once and for all, what her future and that of England would look like. Her only risk was whether the marriage would be one of equals, or if she would live a lifetime of equivocations. Marian would gladly trade her dead fantasies for a true future.

Robin’s future was limited, blind with loyalty to a man who did not return the devotion. Marian regretted the lie, but Robin had chosen his path long ago, and it had not included her.

She’d thrown her lot in with her best option and he had not failed her. Her marriage to Guy would likely be one of respect and honor. With such a foundation, perhaps there was room for more...

Her eyes were drifting closed once again when Guy began to shift restlessly on the cot. Marian sat up and saw Guy waking, rustling under the sheet, his sleep-softened face a curious sight to her. She supposed it would not be the last time she would see it.

“Marian?” 

“Yes, Guy. I’m here.” She slid off the chair and took his outstretched hand.

“You’re here.” He felt her hand, and found the little ring on her finger. “It was real. Was it real? I am not dreaming?”

“No, Guy. It was real,” Marian tucked her legs underneath her, wanting to shrink away. “All of it.”

He sat up, balancing on an elbow and turned stricken eyes on her. “I wanted to give you such a beautiful wedding. Not… this. I’m sorry.”

“Shh. I cannot think on it now. After my father’s funeral.”

“Of course.” Guy sat up completely and pushed the sheet away. “Marian,” he began and paused. He appeared at odds with himself. “Marian, no matter what happens, today, when Vaisey returns, whenever, I need you to know something.”

“What, Guy?” She sat up on her knees as Guy swung around to face her. He nudged unruly hairs from her forehead and cupped her cheek as he smoothed them, his eyes widening when Marian pressed her cheek to his palm. 

Guy swallowed, his jaw clenching for a moment. “I love you.” 

Marian’s breath caught. She’d known, in truth, but knowing and hearing-- with such stark, plain speech-- were two things. “Guy, I…”

He shook his head. “No, not now. I don’t expect it now, maybe I shouldn’t ever. But if you could look kindly on me…”

Marian burst into tears. Held back for so many hours, days, they spilled hot and fierce down her cheeks. Strong arms snatched her before she could crumble to the floor, clutching her close.

…

Marian did not cry when Edward Fitzwilliam of Knighton was buried. Her father would not like her so upset anymore. And though Guy was determined to prevent any interruptions, Marian demanded that he not send men into the nearby woods. Later, a patrol found a clutch of arrows with striped fletching, laid at the tree line. They’d been broken in half.

A fresh supply of tears welled in Marian’s eyes. She cried them in silence, wetting Guy’s shoulder.

...

Word came by way of grimy messengers to Nottingham that Lord Vaisey would return in a week. Mere days later, word came by way of the kingsguard that Lord Vaisey was en route to Germany with a delivery of money to free Richard.

A month later, word came via the same guards that a terrible misfortune had befallen Lord Vaisey. They further reported that Prince John requested Sir Guy of Gisborne to serve as interim sheriff until the arrival of the Earl of Derby in a few months time.

Marian straightened as Guy relayed the last reports. “What does it mean?”

Guy sat across from his wife and studied the board. They’d paused their game when the guard approached. “It means that the barons have access to John, and he is listening.” He moved a piece and threatened Marian’s position.

She returned the favor. “What does it mean for us,” she said softly.

Guy stood and stoked the fire. Pleasant evening chill was giving way to wintery cold, and the castle walls were ever gray and damp. “If he brings his own men, it means we may be able to leave.”

“We can go home?” Forgetting the game, Marian stood and walked to Guy’s side by the fire. As the poker kicked up sparks, she hesitated, her question caught somewhere between her lips and her fear of the answer.

“Are you wondering where home is?” Guy asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” Marian cringed, turning away. So many things had gone well, she felt she had no right to ask for more.

The poker slid back into the holder and Guy placed his hands on her shoulders. “It may be safer to settle at Knighton. Should Richard ever return, he may return Locksley to Hood. If our goal is to avoid attention, our permanent residence will be Knighton, and we will maintain and oversee Locksley.”

Marian nodded, but she chewed her lip for a moment. “Which would you prefer, though?”

Guy gently turned her to face him, and Marian saw the trembling in his lips. “Can you not guess? Can you not see?”

She reached up and held his cheek in her hand. “See what, Guy?”

He held her palm to his face and kissed it. “ _You_ are home.”

Chess pieces clattered to the floor. The game was over.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I covered more ground in fewer words than I expected. :) I know, we're missing something... For those interested in *content*, I will accept some suggestions or prompts, and if the mood strikes, I may write some more adult rated things for them. :)


End file.
